The Darkest Defiance
by Fawnfire
Summary: She was vaguely aware of them dragging her across the marble floor, then being shoved her to her knees and held there. Fighting a wave of vertigo, she looked up at the man on the throne. He examined his favorite heavy handled dagger, looking at his own reflection on the silvery-blue blade. "Do you believe in life after death?"
1. First Defiance

**This is the sequel to the Shadow's of the South, which you can read if you'd like. You can find it listed under stories I've written. If you haven't read the Shadows of the South, you can still read this story without trouble. I promise! =P**

**********Please read and review! It's appreciated!**

**NOTE: Gil's not going to make an ****appearance until the end of the second Chapter, but don't loose hope, he's going to be in this as a main character later on!**

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**Summary: (For those of you who choose not to read Shadow's of the South; and those who want a bit more detail on the story to be told.)**

**A band of Knight's from Gallica has risen to challenge the throne of Araluen, claiming themselves to be the Cult of Day.**

**The Shadow's, a rebel group of thieves and cutthroats, is the only thing that has stood between the Cult and Araluen for this long. But they are falling, their forces dwindling.**

**The shifty alliance that brings the Shadow's and Araluen together is newly forged and only for the time of war.**

**But who are these thieves? Who are these Knight's?**

**It's all about where one's loyalties lie. **

** In the Sun...**

**Or**

** In the Dark... **

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"Too low," Halt called from the wooden post he was slouched against. The grim Ranger had roused his apprentice, Rowan, at the crack of dawn that morning for archery practice in the little yard of Crowley's secluded cabin.

Crowley, the Ranger's Commandant, was out and about among the training yard. The Ranger had suffered from a recent injury in a skirmish close to Hackham Heath not a few weeks' time past, and he was taking the time to refine his deteriorated skills with a sore and stiff shoulder while he rested and recuperated at his cabin. During times of war the Commandant was called frequently to the King's side, and he found it easier to reside in the Castle where he was close at hand. He'd missed the little place lately, and he was glad for the brief respite from Castle Araluen to spend more time in the homely little cottage. The practicing in the yard made his troubles slip away, usually. He found it wasn't as calming as it used to be, not when his shoulder screamed with pain. The Ranger had begun to notice Rowan's awkward glances, and he could guess that Rowan found it odd to see the Commandant practicing when he'd hardly ever seen his own mentor do so.

Throughout the morning of training Rowan had grown accustomed to Halt's quiet corrections to his horrid shots. Rowan had once been a thief, and he knew the ways of knives fairly well, but when it came to using the recurve bow Halt had given him he was inexcusably pathetic. This time however Rowan had thought his shot was pretty decent. The arrow had lunged free of Rowan's bow smoothly, hissing through the air and accented by the slap of a waxy bow string against a leather arm guard on Rowan's wrist. The arrow had slammed into the circular target board across the yard, a total distance of at least thirty feet or so with a satisfying _thwack_. It had landed in the upper outer ring of the target, and now Rowan turned a questioning look to Halt.

"Too low? What am I aiming at?"

Halt shook his head, "Not you, that shot was better, you hit the board this time. I meant Crowley."

The Ranger Commandant, who had been practicing alongside Rowan for the better half of the morning peered around Rowan to give Halt a questioning look. Crowley was missing his cloak, having chosen to relinquish it before he began to practice. Instead he wore the simple drab tunic and breeches of a Ranger, along with his quiver over one shoulder-his good shoulder-and the massive long bow in his hands. Sweat had broken out along his brow, and one shoulder seemed to droop at an awkward angle in contrast to the other. His short sandy hair was a bit ruffled, and he seemed quite disheveled at Halt's criticism.

Halt nodded, his face grim and expressionless. Rowan thought he saw the slightest spark of humor in his eyes for the briefest of moments however. The apprentice glanced at Crowley's target, seeing that the black shafted arrow lodged in the three inch thick target board had flown a bit low on the wind and hit the outer edge of the inner ring. Even when injured the older Ranger outmatched Rowan by a long shot, literally. The apprentice sighed, counting off the hours he'd have to spend with a bow in his own hands to get anywhere near as good as an injured Crowley.

"You're wobbling at each draw, Crowley," Halt said, but his voice wasn't harsh towards his friend.

Crowley shrugged and winced as the movement sent a sudden flare of pain slithering through his right shoulder. Crowley could already guess what Halt was going to say, and he didn't want to hear it. He spoke first, his voice short and his tone clipped. "I'm fine," but it was clear that he wasn't.

Halt gave his friend a stern look that made Rowan wonder about who was in charge. Halt looked like he might reprimand Crowley for straining his shoulder, but Crowley seemed to get the message before the grim Ranger had to resort to words.

"I'm just tired," he amended quietly.

"Take a break then, the King's Council starts in just a few hours. We still have time to get breakfast before hand." Halt's eyes gestured to Rowan now too, and the apprentice stifled a sigh of inner relief at the turn of events. Rowan despised practicing his archery, and the prospect of food made his stomach want to roar with anticipation.

And so Halt led them off, giving Crowley a critical look as the Commandant rolled one shoulder with a painful grimace on his face. Rowan took a brief moment to clean up in Crowley's cabin; he rinsed his face in a basin of water and ran a clean drying cloth over his face. He took care to make sure he'd retrieved all of his arrows and that his bow and knives were in their proper places. Lastly he slung his cloak over one shoulder and followed Halt and Crowley out of the cabin. The two had begun to bicker softly to one another as only old friends could. Rowan listened discreetly but found he couldn't quite catch the words that were murmured.

Crowley had changed his tunic and rinsed his face as well. The slight change made him look like a new man, or so Rowan thought. As the Ranger saddled his mount he favored his weak shoulder, betraying the still aching wound that ailed him. This time Halt made no comment and instead busied himself with tacking up Abelard.

Rowan did likewise, patting his Ranger horse on the neck and giving the little steed a hand full of oats. The shaggy little horse was a solid smoky grey, giving him his name, Flint. A good natured horse with a well mannered master, Cedric had told Rowan. Cedric was Rowan's older brother and his only remaining relative. His praise carried a certain brilliance for Rowan, and it meant a lot to know that at least his brother was proud of him, even if his mentor seemed casually indifferent. For the moment Rowan shoved the thoughts away into a dormant part of his mind, he'd have thoughts for them later. He planned to enjoy the respite from his archery practice, however short the break might be.

* * *

The tavern that Crowley took them to was a lot to Rowan's liking. Well lit, airy, and just a touch on the warm side. Even the guests seated at round tables scattered about the ground floor seemed rather docile at the start of the day. The bartender, a beardless man in his late thirties, was already well acquainted with Crowley and it wasn't long before they were seated at a relatively secluded table against one wall. The hearth fire burned with a gentle crackle several feet away, warming Rowan even further. Having spent most his life out on the streets Rowan felt strong appreciation to the warmth of any home against the chill of a dark, fathomless cave or a dormant barn. He settled comfortably there, savoring the brush of heat against his skin.

"Are you going to the Council?" Crowley asked Halt as the commandant sipped coffee idly. Halt shrugged in indecision.

Rowan prickled with unease, he had never had a knack for strategizing, and the King's Council consisted of just that at the current state of the kingdom. With an army due to be on there doorstep anytime soon they were quite busy with the preparations for sudden war. Already small outbreaks of the Cult of Day's troops were plowing through the outer lying forts and fiefdoms, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake.

What disturbed Rowan even more was the fact that the Shadows, now officially temporary allies of Araluen, were unmoved by this. On a short trip to meet with the leader of the Shadow's with his mentor, Rowan had discovered that they were practically indifferent as they shuffled through the ruins of a rural village. Rowan had seen the apathetic look that clouded Fell, the leader of the Shadow's face, as he helped to bury one of the dead. How could anyone be apathetic when innocent people were dying at the hand of such a brutal foe? It set Rowan's blood to a boil to witness their disregard.

"I'd definitely like to go," Halt murmured, mulling things over in his mind. His dark eyes gave nothing away. "I heard that the Shadow's have been going lately."

Crowley nodded, "Strider's shown up, but she hasn't said much. I don't think she really holds interest with the sort of strategizing that goes on. But I wouldn't think for a moment that she hasn't been doing her homework on the subject of the Cult." Crowley's words were soft and slow, Halt cocked an eyebrow at the Ranger.

"What are you thinking?"

Crowley shook his head, "Nothing, it's just… She's kind of… Familiar."

Halt eyed Crowley critically, "What kind of familiar?"

Crowley tapped his fingers along the wooden table in agitation. "I want to say I've met her before, that I know her from somewhere else. I just can't put my finger on it yet. What's her first name? Her real name?"

Halt shrugged, "I don't think I know it. But she got the name 'Strider' for running, or so I was told. Fell didn't elaborate very much on the topic."

"Is it Jane?" Rowan asked quietly. Crowley's head snapped towards him suddenly, his eyes filled with a mix of shock and confusion. "I've heard Fell mention the name once or twice. I don't know who else it could pertain to though."

"Jane… Jane… Jane…" Crowley muttered, and then it came to him. "That's it! I know her!" Crowley was smiling broadly now. Halt raised an eyebrow at his leader. "Brandon Crewe is her father if I'm not mistaken."

Halt frowned thoughtfully, "The mountain lord?"

Crowley nodded, "Yeah, that's him. He's a sort of timid fellow and he runs a little estate with not all too much to his name, but he's a lord none the less."

Rowan's thoughts raced, "Then wouldn't that mean that the Leader of the Cult is Crewe's son as well?"

Crowley nodded again, "It would," he furrowed his brow, "But why wouldn't Strider have said so?"

Halt shrugged, "Maybe it wasn't of much importance."

"I have to disagree, Halt," Crowley objected, "if Strider hadn't told anyone outright, than maybe there's a reason for it. Maybe there's something she's hiding."

Halt grunted and resettled himself in his chair, "Then we just have to find out what's worth hiding."

* * *

The castle of Araluen's central courtyard was packed with the day to day business of a Kingdom preparing for war. The cobbled courtyard was a mixed mass of Knights and Squires, messengers, peasants, castle guards and inhabitants, and the rare thief. The chaotic scene that stretched before Halt didn't bother him, he slipped right through the crowd and towards the large, airy stables where he could settle his horse for the afternoon. He could expect to meet Crowley and Rowan at any moment, both of them being in the castle at the time. Rowan was with his older brother, Sir Cedric the Battlemaster of Meric fief, spending a little bit of time together before the King's Council began. Crowley had gone to meet with the King and to share a word with him about his suspicions about Lord Crewe.

Halt looked up as he dismounted Abelard to see a wayward woman making her way towards him. She was wearing a pair of men's baggy trousers tucked into knee high boots and a loose fitting green tunic that was belted crookedly at the waist. An ashen black cloak hung from her shoulders, dyed strategically to blend into the shadows of the night. Light, leather crafted arm guards wrapped around her hands protectively, and at her waist was a knife in a worn scabbard. The blade was reasonably long, at least the length of Halt's lower arm, from his wrist to his elbow. The woman wore another such knife strapped securely to her right thigh.

She was the epitome of an average Shadow, with a handful of vivid and faded scars alike that were visible. The cloak was the signature of a Shadow, but what made her so different from all the others was her gender. She was a rarity, a female warrior who could very well hold her own, and on top of that she held a place amongst the Shadow's as the Leader's Deputy, or second in command.

Despite the rough and tumble life she seemed to live, one of former thievery and current trickery, she was a relatively fair sight. She had a sort of rugged beauty that was difficult to explain. Her hair was a mess of straight and errant locks of hair that tended to crisscross one another, giving her a truly rogue like appearance. With a stubborn jaw and high cheekbones, an average nose and simple ears, she wasn't much to look at. Until you saw her eyes.

They were a rich and fiery hazel that blazed with defiance that truly defined her personality. That was Strider in a nutshell: fiery and defiant. Even though Strider looked just about dead beat tired, her eyes were bright and alert.

Halt took a closer look and felt curiosity stir in his mind. Leafy green plants poked their stalks out of Strider's lower pockets, and in one hand she held a carrot. In the other she held the reins of her horse, a large and most brutish looking paint horse called Whiplash. The large animal was solid white, splashed over with deep splotches of dominating chestnut. The gelding might have been a beautiful beast at one time in its life, but it's back was marred with deep and tender scars that had left the horse with a fierce and unruly temperament.

The horse proved its reputation to be true as it attempted to take a chunk out of Halt's own mount. Strider held the horse back with the reins and held the carrot up. Whiplash's ears shot forward and he took the offered carrot with a content little snort.

"Easy, Whip, that's my hand you're gnawing," Strider told the horse as she gently stroked its muzzle. As if in reply the paint horse butted its head against the back of Strider's shoulder, threatening to throw her face first onto the cobbles.

"A bit hungry, are you?" Commented Halt casually as Strider pulled another carrot from her pocket.

She grinned, a wicked and friendly light in her eyes. "Just a tad," She retorted and offered Halt a carrot.

Halt accepted one and let Abelard have it, and the little shaggy horse whinnied his gratitude as he crunched the fresh vegetable.

"Are you here for the Council?" Strider asked casually as Halt led the way to the castle's stables.

Halt nodded. "And what about you? How do you like the Council?"

Strider shrugged, "It isn't too bad. Not exactly what I'm used to, but I think I'm learning. What about you? Have you been on any adventures lately?"

Halt's mouth twitched in the slightest hint of motion, the closest hint at a smile that Strider would get from him. "Nothing too exciting, just the usual work."

"Hey!"

Strider and Halt slowed and turned at the new voice to see Crowley brushing through the crowd and making his way towards them.

"Hey Crowley," Strider replied with a wan smile. "Carrot?" She asked, plucking another one from her pocket. Crowley frowned thoughtfully at the vegetable, and then shook his head.

"Um… No thanks." His gaze shifted to Halt, "I've been looking all over for you. What took you so long? The Council's about to start and the King needs to talk to you."

* * *

The King's Council was gathered in a large and airy room with a dominating table of thick and sturdy wood in the center. The dark wood was polished and gleamed in the sunlight that poured in through open windows set in the stone of the castle's walls. Across the table were maps of Araluen in all shapes and sizes on paper both worn and new with ink both dark and light. At the far end of the table sat the King, a tall and broad shouldered man with blonde hair and piercing green eyes. He was busy studying a map critically while the rest of the Council that was seated around him quietly discussed matters of the coming war.

Along the wall Strider stood, leaning against the stone and tapping her fingers along her crossed arms thoughtfully. She neglected to find a seat, even though there was room enough for her. She found she had a better view of the maps from where she stood. She refrained from conversation, keeping her opinions to herself. So far she had to say that most of what was discussed seemed to be going fairly well. She doubted her opinion was needed.

Crowley and Halt were close by the King, speaking quietly over one of the outer lying Forts and its inhabitants. It'd been rumored that the Cult were planning to wipe the little settlement off the map some time soon, and precautions were being placed in order to prevent such an occurrence.

"Just a Knight and ten men at arms would do for reinforcements?" The King asked uncertainly.

"It really depends on the force that the Cult intends to attack with." Halt pointed out. The King frowned thoughtfully. He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the Council for someone who might be able to help with the matter at hand. His gaze came to rest on Strider, who was intent on studying a map over a Knight's shoulder in a discreet manner.

"Strider,"

Strider looked up from the map a bit reluctantly, her shrewd gaze flicked to the King. "Yes, your majesty?"

"I think I'd like your opinion on this," The King said, Strider hesitated a moment before shrugging herself up right and crossing the threshold with a few silent strides.

"I'd be happy to help if I can your majesty."

Strider's keen eyes traveled over the vividly etched map before the King. Halt and Crowley explained the dilemma to Strider. Fort Warwick was on the outer edge of Greenfield fief and was rumored to be a target for the Cult. In defense of the Fort the King had planned to send reinforcements, and now he was left with the job of choosing a suitable tactic and the right about of defenders for the Fort.

"How many would you suggest for the Fort as reinforcements?" The King asked. Strider pondered the question for a moment in silence.

"How many Cults' are said to be involved in the attack?" She asked slowly.

"We're unsure," Crowley replied.

"What's this?" Strider pointed to a darker patch of terrain that had been sketched in around the outer facing edge of the Fort.

"It's a dried up lake," Halt explained.

"How long has it been since it dried up?" Strider queried, and Halt was beginning to wonder just what she was getting at.

"A few months I guess, why?"

Strider ignored the question for the moment, "Do you think you'd be able to get a wagon or two of water to the lake bed, maybe to try and fill it up?"

The King frowned, "I guess so, if it was really necessary."

Strider nodded, "If I were a Cult…" she muttered.

"What's this?"

This time she pointed to a collection of grey ovals that flanked the Fort on the right side.

"It's a small field of boulders."

She nodded again, brightening. "That'll do just fine." Strider then caught the blank looks of the Ranger's and the King and smiled apologetically. "I know this will sound silly, but it's worked before, I think. If you fill the lake bed with water you'll pretty much get a huge mess of mud, and it'll be kind of like a moat on one side of the Fort. It'll help detour an attack if it's done right, and if it lasts long enough."

Now Halt was catching on, and he began to see the simplicity of the plan. "They won't be able to attack straight on," he said and Strider smiled her assent.

"Exactly, they'll have to find another way to get around it without getting their hands dirty." Strider tapped the boulders and the exposed left side of the Fort. "So what you're left with is an option of two routes. You can travel through a mess of big boulders on one side, or you can take the easy way and waltz right up to the Fort's left side."

King Duncan rubbed his chin, "But what does that do exactly? They'll only have one straight shot to the Fort, but it still doesn't solve the problem of reinforcements. They could still very well take the Fort down from that side."

Strider grinned wickedly, "Oh, but that's the beauty of it, your majesty. You don't need reinforcements when you have the moat monster and the rock phantoms."

Crowley frowned, "What?"

Strider suppressed a chuckle, "I told you it'd sound silly. You don't really need to send reinforcements at all. You could have the standing garrison abandon the Fort."

King Duncan was shaking his head, "But that would leave the Fort vulnerable to capture."

Strider nodded, "It would, your majesty, but you have to get within spitting distance of the Fort to capture it, and they'll never get that close." Strider traced the line of the boulders, "You could split the garrison and place a forth of them here, and place another forth in the moat."

Halt cocked an eyebrow, "Inside of the moat?" To Halt the idea sounded a bit too messy for his liking.

Strider nodded, "Smack dab in the middle of it. You'd have to have an arranged signal of course, but from the vantage of the boulders you could spot the force of the Cult from a ways off, then you could signal the moat men to give them a reception. The rest of the men, the remaining half, could be waiting from a ways off to come from behind the Cult and lend a helping hand."

The King saw it now, and he was strongly intrigued. "I think it would work, but where did you pull that idea from?"

Strider shrugged, looking a bit on the embarrassed side. "I meant what I said about it being a silly idea, your majesty. I got it from a game I used to play when I was a child. It'll work a bit differently though, since I'm fairly sure that the garrison doesn't consist of my older cousin and his dog Pip."

Crowley grinned, but he had a sour thought, _it's not your cousin and his dog, just your brother and his psychotic friends. _Around them the Council had fallen silent, having heard the rather out of place plot that Strider had proposed. Strider seemed to shrink under the stares, and she was almost soothed when a messenger came darting into the King's Council room, taking the attention off of her for the moment.

All eyes were on a young stable hand who looked rather stricken. He fumbled for words before he spit out the news in a rapid slew of words.

"Your majesty, there's someone here to see you. He says he has a message for you and it's urgent. Something's happened in the mountains."

Strider almost flinched, to Halt and Crowley's interest. They exchanged looks while the King rose from his chair.

"Well, where is he boy?"

The stable hand floundered again, "He's in the infirmary your majesty, and he's wounded."

The King thanked the stable boy and rose to his feet. He turned back to the Council and smiled apologetically.

"We'll have to continue this another time."

The Council nodded their understanding and bowed politely as the King departed. Strider moved to follow him and then hesitated, instead her gaze switched to the stable boy who was talking rapidly to one of the Senior Knights, explaining everything in greater detail. Strider moved a bit closer and listened intently, oblivious to the watchful eyes of the Ranger's that followed her.

"He fell right off his horse, and one of the guardsmen helped him up, and he said he had a message for the King that something happened in the mountains."

Strider shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to another, "What did he look like?"

A few gazes flicked to her with surprise, and the stable boy seemed dumbfounded by the question.

Strider looked calm on the exterior, but Halt could see the twisted emotions in her eyes. "Was he tall?" Strider asked, "Short? Lanky? Drunk?"

Now the boy had caught on, "He was kind of tall I guess, a bit round and he had a grey beard. He also had a scar on his neck, like claw marks."

Strider frowned thoughtfully, giving Halt the impression that whoever she suspected as the messenger was someone else. She shrugged to herself and as the Council began to dissipate she slipped out of the room and headed for the stables. Crowley caught up with her and weighed his options. He was now almost positive that Strider was the Jane he was thinking of, but something told him to wait on questioning her. The Ranger had a wandering hope that maybe she would tell someone herself if given the opportunity, maybe there wasn't anything she was trying to hide after all.

* * *

Even in the dead of night the castle of Araluen was well guarded, and it turned out to be no simple task for Strider to get in and out unnoticed. After a bit of creeping around Strider decided that the best way in would be the less suspicious. She'd walk in through the front gates, something she'd done many times as a representative in the King's Council. Most of the day guards knew her, and the night guards had heard of her and seen her around the castle. They let her pass through without any conflict and only a minor pestering of questions of her late appearance.

"There's a letter I've got to collect," Strider told them honestly, giving them the wicked truth. She played the innocent role of a late messenger for all that it was worth, finding it an easy ploy from legitimate recent experience. Strider tethered her mount to a wooden post near the stables, thankful for the full moon soaring overhead and the cloudy night that provided shadows of comfort. She slipped quietly into the castle corridors, the deed she was about to carry out weighing a little heavily on her shoulders.

After a bit of wandering through the darkened corridors she managed to find the infirmary. She slunk past the sleeping healer on duty, an elderly man who was snoring loudly. Along the narrow hallway were several dark entryways leading to individual rooms, with patients inside. Some were vacant while others were filled the sick or wounded.

Strider wandered some more, poking her head into rooms on either side of the hallway until she came to the one she was looking for. It was like all the others, smooth marble floor, pale castle stone walls, and of course, the wood framed cot. This particular bed was filled with an unconscious figure, one with a weather smoothed face and a thin and peppery beard. The distinct and savage marks of the mountain cats' horrifying attack were thin lines of white against the man's neck.

Hastily Strider glided around the bed, paying little mind to the wounded patient, only wanting what he'd been sent to deliver. On the other side of the bed was just what she was looking for. It was a small leather saddlebag that could hold no more than a few spare tunics and a maybe provisions enough for a day or so. Strider tossed a glance at the patient, this time noticing the sling that held his left arm straight. She felt an aching pang somewhere in her heart. She shoved it away ruefully and knelt to inspect the contents of the saddle bag.

Like she'd thought it didn't hold much more than the bare necessities and it only took a moment to find the sliver of parchment underneath the scruffy fabric of a worn tunic. The tattered little letter had endured much and it bore the splotches of rain and the tears of only God knows what. Sure enough, printed in thick red wax was the seal of a minor mountain Lord, a seal that Strider knew fairly well. She sighed with relief and thanked the god of Thieves that the sealed document had been ravaged so vehemently, otherwise one of the King's attendants might have taken the letter to the King or his secretary, and Strider would be having a much harder time of things.

Strider stopped to listen for approaching footsteps and stared at the flickering torchlight along the wall of the outer corridor for a moment to be sure that no one had followed her. Satisfied, she started to scrutinizing the letter's wax seal, contemplating the best way to open the letter without making it too obvious.

Something stopped her.

It was like a sixth sense. Strider's head jerked up suddenly, the firelight flickered with a man's shadow. Strider was galvanized into sudden silent movement.

Crowley stepped into the room silently, his keen eyes traveled over the sleeping patient and the quiet room. They came to rest on the saddlebag that was tipped to one side, a tunic had been dumped from it. Crowley moved towards it and dropped onto his haunches to slip the garment back into the bag. He frowned as something interesting caught his eye, he almost smiled to himself as he picked up the little vegetable. A carrot with a leafy frond for a stem had been laying beside the worn leather bag. He tapped it against his palm as he stood and headed for the door, unaware of the shrewd gaze that followed him out.

Once he was gone Strider let the air from her lungs, giving vent to a great sigh of relief. She slipped out from under the bed as quietly as possible, the weathered sheaf of parchment still in her hands. The pair of dark leather boots and the cloak that had halted so close to Strider's hiding place were fresh in her mind. She could almost see the scowl on Crowley's face as he made his way down the hall and into another part of the castle.

With the slyest of crooked smiles Strider cracked the seal on the letter.

* * *

Strider retreated back to the stables, heading for the post where her horse was waiting for her. The instant the large paint horse came into view Strider knew something was dearly wrong. The beast was distraught, stamping it's hooves and straining against it's tether. It half reared, slamming it's hooves into the wooden post with a screaming neigh of frustration. Strider moved forward quickly, startled by her mount's sudden distress.

The Shadow let out a sharp whistle to catch the horse's attention, a short, piercing sound that brought Whiplash's head jerking towards her. Strider caught the horse's bridle and laid one hand palm flat on the wash of chestnut color of the horse's forehead. The effect was instant, Whiplash froze with one last defiant snort of impatience. The ill tempered horse attempted to toss it's head once more but Strider's calming hands and soothing words made the horse still.

"It's alright, Whip," Strider murmured to the gelding. Her blazing hazel eyes flickered over the surrounding stalls. The other horses looked just as startled as Strider had been at Whiplash's sudden outbreak.

"Looks like you've woken the whole stable, eh boy?" Strider told her mount as she stroked his muzzle. The calming gesture soothed Whiplash into steady silence, giving Strider a chance to look elsewhere for the cause of Whiplash's spook.

He stepped out from behind the stable door, his face an unreadable mask of stone. "Well he definitely woke me."

Strider suppressed the biting remark that sprang to her lips at his sudden appearance. Instead she turned to face him, still looking a bit cross. "I highly doubt that, you Ranger's seem to hardly ever sleep."

Crowley tipped his head to the side inquiringly, "I'm starting to see that you don't get sleep much either, your too busy paying visits to unlikely patients in the infirmary."

Strider's eyes danced with fire, "And what about you? Too busy stalking me to catch a moment's rest?"

Crowley snorted in derision, "Some people just need to be watched."

"And others avoided," Strider retorted, her voice rapt with guile. She untied Whiplash's tether with deft hands, and headed for the portcullis.

Crowley followed after her, "I don't believe I was done talking to you,"

"I was," Strider called over her shoulder.

The Ranger Commandant ground his teeth together, and strode forward to stop Strider. He stepped in front of her, forcing her to face him squarely. Crowley made sure to stay well out of Whiplash's way, the surly tempered beast had taken a snap at Crowley once or twice already that night.

"I'm not letting you leave until I get that letter back," Crowley told her, his voice as blunt as steel.

Strider stopped, looking a bit aggrieved as Crowley's accusation. "The letter I was sent here to collect?"

"Someone asked you to steal the messenger's letter?" This was news to Crowley.

"The messenger's letter?" Strider echoed, "Crowley, what in the world are you talking about?"

Crowley smothered a grunt of frustration, "The messenger that arrived today, you were in his room tonight and now his letter is missing."

"Why would I go to see the messenger at all? I've got my hands full with my own messages, I haven't the time to dawdle."

The Ranger held up the carrot, "You left this behind, I know you were there, now where's the letter you took?"

If Strider were a dog the fur along her spine would have been standing on end with hostility. "I didn't take any letters from his room, I only went to see if he knew anything about the men who attacked him."

"Why would you be interested in his attackers?"

Strider shrugged and glanced around hesitantly before replying in a low whisper. Crowley had to lean a little closer to hear the words, "A friend of mine warned me that something was stirring in the South, he said a bird-a messenger-was on their way. I heard from someone else that whoever was coming from the South was a marked man."

Crowley frowned while he listened, intrigued. Strider stopped for a moment, biting her lip, not sure if she should tell Crowley anymore or not. She decided that he needed to know and continued before Crowley could voice his doubts.

"Whatever is going on in the South is bad, that much I know for sure, and whoever is stirring up trouble in the South is going to great lengths to keep it silent." Strider's eyes flashed in the darkness, "There's no telling how many messengers have died before this one reached Araluen's capital, and I don't think that they'll let him live much longer if they can help it."

Crowley heard the worry and concern creeping into Strider's voice as she finished, he could see the distress in her eyes.

"Why didn't you say something before?" Crowley asked, suspicious.

Strider shrugged again, her cloak rippled across her shoulders in the silvery moonlight. "For one, it wasn't exactly a reliable source I got it from. And it seemed highly unlikely, the King's got men in the South who'd be able to let him know any urgent news."

It was true, Crowley had to admit, there were a lot of people in the South who could alert the King of trouble. One of them being Hane, the Ranger of the mountain fief in the South. Even though Crowley usually didn't hear word from Hane all too often, he was starting to worry that maybe it'd been too long since he'd spoken to the Ranger, in person or through a letter or message.

"I wish I'd paid more attention to this," Strider muttered. She glanced up at the moon, she still had a message to deliver one from the Leader of the Shadow's to one of his trusted allies on the coast. The moon showed that she wouldn't make it there by dawn if she didn't get a move on.

"I'm sorry Crowley, I have to go."

The Ranger nodded, but he was still thinking through everything that Strider had told him. The bait of the messenger's unopened letter forgotten.

"Crowley?"

The Ranger looked up to see that Strider had stopped and was biting her lip in indecision once more. "Yes?"

Something about Strider's hazel eyes led Crowley to believe that her next words were direly sincere. "Please don't let the messenger die while I'm gone, it'll be harder to explain without him."

Crowley frowned, intrigued and puzzled at the same time, but before he could ask what Strider had meant she'd swung into Whiplash's saddle and kneed the horse forward into an easy canter as she slipped out of Castle Araluen and into the night.

Little did Crowley know that it was the beginning of the darkest defiance.

* * *

**So that's the beginning of it, lots of mystery and questions left unanswered. **

******Please read and review!**


	2. It's Hiding in the Shadows

**Well, this is Chapter 2! It's a bit long, and the first half is basically just talk between the King, Crowley, and the Messenger. Things are about to start heating up though.**

******Please Read and Review! I haven't gotten much feed back on this, and I'm kind of unsure about it...**

* * *

Crowley checked the seal on the messenger's letter that night. And he checked it again in the morning. He brought it to the King in the afternoon, absolutely perplexed. Strider hadn't lied. The letter had been right where Crowley had placed it, the seal visibly untouched. She hadn't taken the bait. But then what in the world was she doing in the messenger's room?

The Commandant's thoughts tumbled in his head as he slipped into the King's office, he greeted the King with polite deftness and handed him the letter. Duncan's eyebrows rose in question to the Ranger.

"Is something bothering you?"

Crowley sighed, "I was wrong you majesty."

Duncan frowned, then in an exasperated tone of voice, "You, wrong? I believe that would be a crime."

Crowley shrugged and sent his cloak shimmering along his shoulders. "I'm sorry your majesty, I just felt so sure that the message held some sort of importance to Strider. But the letter was in the messenger's bag, and as far as I can tell, the seal is unbroken."

The King ran his hands over the letter and inspected the seal, "Or just forged really well."

Crowley rubbed his chin, unaware that he'd abandoned formalities with the King. "I thought about that too, but it's definitely authentic. I've checked it a number of times, its Crewe's official seal down to the lion's teeth."

Duncan frowned, "His mark of arms is a lion?"

"A mountain lion," Crowley explained. "He had an odd incident with one as a child."

Just then the King's steward slipped inside the room, he bowed politely to the King and Crowley stopped his pacing. Behind him stood the messenger, one arm was wrapped up in bandages and splinted to a painful extent. A sling caressed this arm, but it seemed not to be the only visible sign of abuse on the messenger.

He was quite tall for a man, not very thickset, but he might have been on the round side had he been in better health. His recent rapid travel would have drained him of his strength, and it showed on his weather beaten face. Tired eyes looked out from under thick brows that were surprisingly light. A dark mix of brown and black, his keen eyes drew the attention away from his graying beard. His hair was shorn short and neatly combed back. He wore a simple tunic and breeches that had been lent to him, along with a worn belt. Crowley had the impression that the messenger was a humorous man, which was clear by the slightest hint of wrinkles around his eyes.

Like the steward, he bowed politely, but the movement was painfully stiff. "Your majesty, Ranger."

Duncan dismissed the steward and offered the man a chair. The injured man sank into it with a small sigh of relief.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better," Duncan said, and he searched his memory for the man's name. The messenger smiled, and his eyes did crinkle at the corners like Crowley had suspected they might.

"Your majesty, I don't believe you'll remember a tired old man like me. I'm Gradiny Crewe, Grady for short, but we met years ago when I was quite a bit younger."

An alarm sparked in Crowley's mind, he exchanged a look with the King, "You're Brandon Crewe's brother?"

The messenger nodded at Crowley, "That would be true, I'm his elder brother."

"Elder?" The King said with a hint of curiosity. If Grady was older he would be running the small estate where his younger brother resided. Duncan couldn't exactly be sure of what went on in Crewe's province, the little settlement was one of many that made up the scattered settlements of the fief of Rockfall. The one Baron that ruled over the fief had trouble governing the land properly since the terrain was usually treacherous outside of the valleys that dotted the mountains. The solution for the problem had been to split up the settlements and designate minor lords who could work for the Baron and report to him. It helped to keep the laws and people in check.

Again Grady smiled, a warm gesture, and he guessed at the King's thoughts. "I know I should have been the one to inherit the home, but my Da appointed Bran as his successor instead of me because he had a better head for that sort of thing. I always preferred the open sea against any stuffy mountain valley, so it worked out alright. And mind you sailing is bit more adventurous, and a little less dangerous these days than managing a ledger and holding a province together."

Crowley frowned, so it's true then, he thought. Something was definitely happening in the South, the question was to what the trouble happened to be. Before Crowley could ask he noticed that Grady's eyes settled intently on the letter in the King's hands.

"You've not yet read the letter?"

The messenger had been uninformed of the trap laid out for Strider, a sore point the Crowley had neglected to mention to the man while he was recovering.

The King shook his head, "I'm afraid not, this letter was something of a common interest to an ally of ours."

Grady nodded his understanding, but he was frowning still. "I don't suppose I'll get an elaboration on this, your majesty?"

Duncan was taken aback by Grady's blunt tone, he was quite a bit forward. Crowley exchanged another look with Duncan, and with the King's nod of approval Crowley explained as best he could the dilemma they faced.

"You've heard of the Shadows?" Crowley asked as he faced Grady. The Ranger Commandant remained standing even though there was another wood worked and satin chair for him to sit in. In the King's sprawling office, there were many chairs of the same fashion, Crowley simply found it more comfortable to stand, or rather lean against one of the walls that ran parallel to the King's desk.

"Of course," Grady replied, and he seemed keen on being filled in on some sort of secret. "What about them?"

"The Deputy of the Shadow's is somewhat of a character of interest. We have a hunch that she might be your niece."

Grady's eyebrows rose in disbelief, then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Which niece of mine?"

"Brandon's daughter Jane," King Duncan murmured, and Grady sat back in his chair with a smile breaking out across his face.

"So this means she's alive and well?"

Crowley frowned, "Of course, why wouldn't she be?"

Grady shifted his arm, repositioning his sling more comfortably. "Janie's been gone for a while now, she left the mountains quite a few years ago. I haven't heard from her in ages since she wasn't exactly keen to any sort of contact with any of her family. As far as Brandon and his wife know, little Janie's an accomplished runaway."

Duncan tugged thoughtfully at his beard, "Her father never tried to find her?" The thought of Duncan loosing his own daughter was a crushing one, he couldn't imagine knowing that she was alive and lost in his Kingdom somewhere and not doing something about it. But then again, who said that Lord Crewe knew she was alive, or that he cared?

Grady's expression dropped into one of painful sadness, "He did, but not for long, and not the way he should have."

Crowley felt a pinch of interest stirring inside him, "Why not?"

Grady wriggled in his chair once more, this time from a different sort of discomfort, "She didn't want to be found, and frankly he wasn't very keen on finding her."

Duncan was beginning to feel the gripping curiosity of Grady's words. Why wouldn't Strider want to be found? Who was she hiding from? He felt the compulsion to ask Grady, but he decided against it. Duncan felt he preferred to hear it from Strider.

"Your majesty, I came here to inform you of the distress in the South, distress that's been going behind your back for quite a while now."

Crowley shifted his stance, "How long is 'quite a while'?"

Grady bit his lip as he conferred, "A few months, two at the least, four at the most. I was only in the South for a short time before my brother gave me the boot to get the word out."

"And what about the distress?" Duncan asked quietly.

"It's simple really, the Southern provinces and the majority of the fief of Rockfall is being terrorized by the Cult of Day, a force I think you're familiar with. They've been at their work for awhile now, imprisoning the people who will submit to their tyranny and killing anyone else who refuses. Not exactly a subtle way to go about poisoning this country and striking out for the thrown, but it's getting the job done."

Duncan rested his chin on his hand, his mind tumbling with thoughts. "Why hasn't Baron Bryce informed me of this?"

Grady was shaking his head in disgust, "Lord Bryce is the one who is doing this your majesty, and he's had all the borders on close watch. No one is allowed to leave unsupervised without being tracked, followed, and dealt with."

The King frowned, part of him wanted to object to Grady's statement, but the other diplomatically smart part brought his disbelief to heel. "What does Lord Bryce have to do with the Cult?"

Once more Grady had to shift the position of his arm, and Duncan, being a knight, could tell by set of the man's awkward placement of the limb that it was hurting. He felt a prickle of guilt at keeping the injured messenger in his office, but his curiosity surpassed his concern.

"Bryce," Grady said, emphasizing the lack of use of the appropriate title of his Baron, "is the man who brought the Cult into Araluen. Ranger Hane managed to scrounge up enough evidence against him to convince a few of the other minor lords into rising against him."

Crowley cocked an eyebrow, "Hane's alright?"

Grady looked like he was at a loss for words for just a moment, but he regained his ground quickly enough. "I can't say for sure. He was acting as an ally to Bryce to get a better idea of what they were planning the Cult before he vanished but he wasn't… Made an example of."

A frown creased Duncan's handsome face, he could tell by Grady's tone that the examples were not pleasant occurences. "Has anyone else been 'made an example of?'"

Grady pursed his lips before he spoke. "Unfortunately, many people have. If you pose any sort of problem to Bryce you end up as a public reminder of what defying him really means." His voice was shaded with a grimness that seemed to darken the mood of the room around him, "a lot of times that means being brutally tortured and eventually murdered in front of the Cult's slaves and prisoners."

Duncan seemed slightly twitchy, a sure sign that Grady's words were reaching him. "Why didn't we know of this sooner?"

"Your majesty, the few minor lords who are opposing Bryce have been trying to get word out about this. Unfortunately for most their efforts have been thwarted by various untimely deaths of their subjects and themselves. More to the point, what's happening in the South is bad, and I fear I've left my little brother Bran in the thick of it. His letter requests help, and soon. Bryce is not a patient man, he will not tolerate my brother's outright resistance forever."

Now even Duncan looked grimmer than usual, and no doubt a bit aggrieved at the news. The letter in his hand suddenly seemed lead weighted.

* * *

Crowley left the King and the messenger with confusion muddling his thoughts. What Grady said made sense about the South. A better reading of the South's more recent history did show a lack of merchants from that land, along with letters and important people themselves. What was thought to be a difficult delay of weather in the South was turning out to be so much more. This newfound information however, sparked a bit of interest in Crowley.

The South was where the Shadows had originated, where they first emerged to fight the Cult back off their turf. Fell, the leader of the Shadow's had ended up living with his rebels in the western forest of Redmont. This was after they'd been driven out of the South, or so they said. The question that rose to Crowley's mind was how the events of the South were unmentioned by the Shadows.

Unless of course, there was something more to hide.

* * *

Strider was back at the small wood worked building that made up the Shadow's makeshift command post by midday. With her horse at her shoulder and a mottled grey dog leading the way she admired the disheveled little place. It wasn't an overbearing or impressive structure, but it was the most permanent home that Strider had lived in for years. Being a Shadow meant keeping on the move, and having a consistent home as such was a comfort like no other.

The dishevelment was something that was being worked on when the rare opportunity arose, and the first tell tale signs of clean up were becoming apparent with the fresh paint and recently sanded verandah.

The place was almost like a barracks for the Shadows, with the occasional injured or message bearing Shadows turning up every so often. A lot of people came and went at the command post. Fell, the leader of the Shadow's usually stayed in residence when Strider wasn't. If Fell couldn't be there then Strider would stay in his place, and if they both got called away, leadership usually fell to Kerjack, a well trusted Shadow and good friend of both leader and Deputy.

The drafty lean-to that flanked the one story building was a bit cramped with a dun mare that was Fell's own trusty mount, Timber. A rather disproportioned roan stood alongside the mare, and it tossed it's head in greeting to Strider.

"Hiya Timber, hiya Rust," Strider murmured tiredly as she passed, she stopped and scratched Timber behind one ear and gave Rust a reassuring pat on the neck. She checked the feed and water buckets that rimmed one edge of the makeshift stall. Judging by the clean water that brimmed in one bucket and the grain that barely reached the halfway mark in the other, Strider could guess that someone had fed the horses already that morning. And they were out of grain, Strider noted to herself as she spotted an empty woolen sack against the far wall of the little lean to. Stocking up on such things would be Fell or Strider's job, and one of them would have to send someone out for more grain.

A bit ruefully, Strider noticed that the coats of both the horses currently in stable were sleek and shiny, as if they'd just been groomed. The contrast was startling between Strider's dust covered and positively dead beat mount. Strider herself looked much the same. The previous night's journey had exhausted both rider and mount. On the bright side, they'd made it to the coast and back with an important message in almost record breaking time. On the dark side, Strider thought, I don't think I'll be able to sit straight for a week.

"Whataya say to a week of rest, Whip?"

As if in answer to Strider's question Whiplash raised his head and whinnied, tossing his head in what seemed to be fierce agreement. The usually dour tempered beast was too tired to snap at the other horses, something that came as a relief to Strider as she rubbed the horse down. It made the work easier when her horse was agreeable.

She ran her hands gently other Whiplash's pelt, gingerly smoothing the gelding's coat over the hideous scars that marred his back, shoulders and hind quarters. It was how the horse had gotten his name, and how Strider had in turn gotten the horse. The abuse the horse had suffered was the cause of his ill temper, and when nobody else had opted to put up with such behavior, Strider had taken the horse as her own. It had taken patience and a great deal of work with the surly beast, but slowly Whiplash had begun to grow used to Strider's presence and even begun to show the first fawning signs of affection towards her.

Strider wished she could say the same for some of the unlucky people who'd encountered Whiplash. Fell for instance was one of Whiplash's most thoroughly disliked characters. The gelding refused to let Fell get within arm's length of him without snapping at the man, and in his presence the gelding would bare his teeth in a very feral way. Fell learned quickly though, and he wouldn't touch the gelding with a ten foot stick if Strider asked him nicely and begged him pretty please.

Once Strider was confident that Whiplash was comfortable she left the horse to rest and trudged towards the little house with her pack slung over one shoulder. She left the leather tack in a pile by Whiplash's makeshift stall for her to tend to later, and she'd managed to scrounge up enough grain from her pack to make a decent meal for the horse. She'd have to replenish that little stash of travel feed as well.

Strider headed for the front door and was startled to see a bay horse close to the door, a pair of long reins trailing on the sand smoothed verandah. Strider had come around the back of Fell's House, so she hadn't noticed Blaze the first time but she definitely did note the oddity now. What would Ranger Gilan be doing at Fell's House? She guessed it had something to do with more important news that she would hear about later. For the moment Strider only cared about getting out of her dusty traveling clothes and into her bed to sleep for a very long time.

The front door was unlocked as usual, though it still took a sharp tug to pull the door open. The doors wooden frame was slightly shrunken, but no one had made a move to add it to the list of repairs that were being made on the house. It was nearly impossible to open the door silently because of this, and Fell thought that it was a nice touch to the homely little place. He'd said it was security without the dog, and Strider knew he really did miss Ghost.

That was one thing Strider was looking forward to. Since Fell hadn't been able to bring his ever faithful canine companion Ghost with him on his recent excursions. He'd been forced to leave the dog in the care of a close friend instead, a friend who lived quite a distance away. Now that it seemed things were settling and Fell wasn't always on leave Strider found it fit to reunite the two, at least for the moment.

"Come on boy," Strider said to the dog who'd stopped to sniff at Blaze. The Ranger horse eyed the dog with some interest, then snorted and turned it's attention back to the grass it was cropping. At the sound of Strider's voice Ghost trotted up the verandah, ears pricked and tail held high as he led the way into the house.

Strider closed the door behind her, wincing at the sharp snapping bark that erupted from the kitchen of Fell's House. Fell and Gilan were seated at the long sanded table that made up the dining room and business table. Currently it was being used for the former, with two coffee cups and a plate of fruit taking up only a fraction of the available table top. The room had windows scattered about the wooden walls and was furnished with creaky floor boards, a wide hearth and a little stove flanked by a set of cabinets. It was nothing very impressive, but the Shadows had managed to breath life back into the place. Strider was beginning to wish that the life would be a little bit quieter at the moment.

"Hey buddy!" Fell shouted, exuberant. He leapt up from his chair to greet Ghost, who was howling his happiness to the world and clawing his way up Fell's chest. Fell ruffled Ghost's ears and knelt to lavish the dog with soothing words and a further ruffling. He rose smiling to see his Deputy watching him with a peculiar expression, she was shaking her head at him ever so slightly.

Fell was slightly over average height for his age, with sandy brown hair that stuck out over his forehead in a little patch of lanky and narrow ends. He wore the regular attire of a Shadow. A dark cloak that matched the ashy shade of the night, a worn tunic and dark trousers that were tucked into the tops of his calf high boots. Fell wasn't broad in the shoulders or body, but rather stretched out evenly. He wasn't fantastically muscular but more lean and finely defined. As far as looks went, he did alright with the occasional scar here and there and a straight nose that had been expertly set after a few bad breaks. It didn't matter that the common young women took an interest in him, he didn't really have the time and dedication for a lasting relationship. Fell really didn't have the time for anything nowadays.

"Now why don't you ever greet me like that?" Strider asked, grinning.

Fell shrugged, "Well, you've never really followed me home, and you don't shred pillows or bring me half dead snakes." The way he said it indicated the slightest hint of chagrin.

Strider rolled her eyes, "Well I'm sorry I disappoint you," she said as she brushed past him. "Hey Gilan. I don't suppose you're going to go ballistic in your rush to greet me?"

Gilan had watched the exchange with an amused expression on his face. He shook his head at Strider, "I'm sorry, but I just don't think I can top Fell's demonstration."

Fell followed Strider to the table with Ghost trotting obediently at his side. He eyed his Deputy with something only slightly sort of concern shining in his green eyes. "You look like you've been chewed up and spit out by that hellish horse of yours."

Strider smiled and tilted her head to the side the way a young girl might do when fawning over someone. "Thanks Fell, you really know how to flatter a girl."

Gilan had to admit, Strider did look rather spent. Smudges of plum purple accented each eye and the grit only acquired by a night spent in the saddle clung to Strider with an insistent quality.

Fell smirked and there was a wry little twist to his lips as he spoke, "Just out of polite curiosity, did you ride Whiplash to the coast or did he ride you?"

Strider shuffled through her pack until she found what she was looking for, a little stack of letters held together by a length of rope. "Oh ha ha ha, very funny Fell. You're going to have to excuse me while I stitch up my sides." The sarcasm in her voice was almost tangible and she passed the letter to Fell.

"How's Marek doing?" He asked as he flipped through the letters, his grin was quickly fading. Different looks crossed his face as he saw who the letters were from.

Strider shrugged and picked up a pear from the bowl of fruit. Marek was one of the Shadows that was held in high esteem by Fell and Strider. He was entrusted with the care of leading a small force of Shadows and a few men-at-arms of Araluen by the river of Hackham Heath. Most recently in a skirmish he'd been wounded across one shoulder from a sword thrust. Marek had succumbed to a fever, and for a while Fell was awaiting the grievous news of his friend's death.

"A lot better," Strider said, and it was true. Marek's fever had broken late one night, and he was recovering quickly. "He's cranky as heck though and he fights the healer and herbalist like she's a Cult's archer."

Gilan grinned, he'd met Marek and found that he was a loyal friend and very devious gambler. It was good to hear that the rather boastful Shadow was beginning to recover. Maybe Gilan could finally wind back some of his coin that Marek had happily pocketed after a game of cards.

"That's great, thanks for running the dog watch errand again, I owe you one," Fell told his Deputy, "Now go get some sleep, and I don't want to see you until lunch time."

Strider frowned, "But don't you need help with-"

Fell shook his head, "Nope, I've got it," he was smiling ever so slightly. "Good night."

Strider's lips twitched in a tired effort at a grin, suddenly she was feeling the heavy weariness of the night's journey anew. She wasn't about to deny her leader's offer of a day off, even if it was just until noon.

"Alright then, but you insisted. Night Fell, night Gilan." Strider reclaimed her pack and headed for the hall where her room would be.

Gilan murmured good night to Strider and turned back to Fell. Gilan had been called to Araluen's capital just that day on business from Crowley. So far he had no idea what his Commandant had in store for him. He only knew that he had to wait to find out. And so awaiting he was.

"So…" Gilan said uncertainly to Fell, who had tossed aside the letters to be dealt with later. The Ranger's coffee mug had been depleted twice already, and now it was empty again with only the dregs still in the cup. The Ranger raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Got any more coffee?"

**

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**

**Well, that's Chapter 2. Please Read and Review! It's greatly appreciated! Really, it is. **

**So a few things were left unsettled in this Chapter, like the messenger's letter and if Strider really did read it or not. We get to find that out real soon though! I promise!**


	3. Just Like You

**So this is Chapter 3. Took me forever and a day, I know. I'm sorry. -_- With school back I've been pressed for time. **

**Anyways, please read and review as always, I could use some motivation right about now. **

* * *

Even though Fell had intended to let his Deputy sleep for the rest of the day and maybe even into the early hours of the night Strider was up only a few hours after noon of her own accord.

The morning was a timeless blur to her, and the last thing she remembered was throwing her dirty riding clothes into a corner after she'd finished washing up and collapsing into bed. She'd woken several times after that, but neglected to get up when she might be able to grab a few more hours of shut eye. Eventually Strider did get up, but only when she was confident that sleep wouldn't come to her any longer.

Gilan was gone when Strider finally stumbled her way into the kitchen, but Fell was still at the table, frowning down at a pile of letters that needed his attention. He had a quill and an ink well nearby that looked as if they had yet to have been touched.

"Hey," Strider murmured to him on her way to the stove. She lit a bit of kindling to get a small fire going and put a pot of water on to boil.

Fell echoed his Deputy a bit forlornly, "Hey…" His eyes never left the sheet of parchment that he was thoroughly scrutinizing.

"You want coffee?" Strider asked in a mundane tone. She wasn't quite fully awake yet, and the ill effects of sleep tugged at her mind still, making her vision blurry and her mind foggy. Fell seemed just as distracted with his work, misery painted and etched across his face.

"Yeah, coffee would be fine," He grumbled. Strider tossed in a handful of coffee beans into the pot, giving Fell a measuring look. She was curious as to what had disquieted him this time.

"You want sugar with that Mr. Grump?" Strider grabbed two coffee cups and the pot of freshly brewed coffee off the stove, savoring the aromatic scent that attacked her senses. She poured them each a cup and slid into a chair next to Fell, still assessing his state of mind.

Fell sighed and dropped the pen he'd been holding, brushing aside the papers with one hand a bit disdainfully. He flashed Strider an apologetic smile before he reached for the cup of coffee.

"Sorry, I'm just aggravated with all these letters. Everyone wants something different from me, and somehow I'm supposed to make them all happy."

With a little twitch of her lips Strider emitted a tiny smile, "And no one ever considered your own happiness? Don't they have any good regard for the man who's single handedly holding the Shadows together?"

"Exactly!" Fell exclaimed, his emerald gaze lunging to Strider instantly in surprise.

She was trying to hide a devilish grin behind her coffee mug unsuccessfully. Fell rolled his eyes at her in exasperation.

"Well it's nice to know at least someone considered taking me seriously," he pointed out dryly.

Another little curve of a smile brightened Strider's face as she took another draft of coffee. The aromatic drink slid down her throat, warming and waking the rest of her in a subtle way. "I'm sorry Fell, but you're just so fun to tease. Really, you should try it sometime."

He huffed and scoffed, a trade mark little move of his. "I have to go out for horse feed before these letters convince me of a very subtle suicide, d'you want to come with me?"

Strider smiled, changing the subject when he had no wisecrack close at hand was another one of Fell's habits. Deciding not to point out the obvious, Strider nodded her assent. A nice walk in the sunshine sounded good to her.

* * *

Rowan followed his mentor through the crowd, trying to be as fluid in his movements as Halt was. The Ranger seemed to glide through the crowd, never slowing down or speeding up with the rest of the crowd. Rowan couldn't quite mimic Halt, and he resorted to staying behind the Ranger and following quietly in his wake.

Crowley, who walked alongside Halt in the same manner took notice and he grinned at the youth.

"You can't hide in Halt's shadow for ever you know," the Commandant told Rowan conversationally, a bright grin lighting his face, "he's not near tall enough."

Halt gave Crowley a look, his dark eyes holding a strange gleam. "You can't count on your Commandant forever you know; they tend to have a habit of dying abruptly and in ominous ways."

Crowley's grin only widened, and Rowan found it quite infectious. Originally he'd been nervous about the Commandant, thinking that the older Ranger would be too daunting a figure to be comfortable around. Rowan couldn't have been any more wrong in his assumption about Crowley. Commandant he might be, but he was indeed human, and quite a humorous one at that.

Grady-the fourth member of the ensemble-was someone that Rowan was unsure about. The man was essentially the reason that the Ranger's were taking an excursion into the city, or at least he was the excuse. Crowley had offered to take him to see his niece in person, but Rowan wasn't sure why the Ranger had done so. Rowan couldn't help but think it was done more out of curiosity than kindness, since Crowley had Halt and Rowan tag along as well. Both seemed interested in knowing whether or not Grady was really Strider's uncle, and the simple thought of who the man might be made Rowan wary of him. Having only met the Shadow's Deputy a handful of times Rowan couldn't say he knew Strider well, but his first impressions of her hadn't been good at all. He'd heard a few stories that described Strider as a murderous fiend, and then of course there was the few times that Rowan had seen Strider fight. He found the way that someone of her stature could go from being an almost innocent ally into a cloaked killer. It was unsettling, and Rowan couldn't help but be wary of her and the rest of the Shadows for that common trait they shared. Rowan only hoped that whatever made Strider as cold and unforgiving as she was when she had a knife in her hand was absent in Grady.

With that hope still in his mind Rowan followed Halt and Crowley as they turned down another lane, the slightly less crowded street led to Fell's House. Looking ahead Rowan could just make out the veranda where a mounted rider was swinging down from their horse, a lifeless form huddled in their arms.

* * *

The cobbled streets of the Araluen market place were crowded to a smothering extent, and navigating the streets with two horses weighed down with supplies was proving to be difficult. Despite the unpleasantly busy market, the day was cool and crisp, with a pale blue sky overhead. The weak sunlight provided little comfort against the chilly breeze, and the warm walk Strider had been hoping for had long since faded in the wind.

Fell glanced over at his flustered Deputy and couldn't help but grin. She turned a glare at him.

"What's so funny?" She said, leading Whiplash along beside her. The big horse stood on the other side of Strider, with his long neck close to her shoulder. Fell stood on the opposite side of Strider, a healthy distant away from the ill tempered horse.

"It gets a little cool outside and you start clinging to the horse like he'll protect you from the cold."

Strider gave him a scornful look, "That's not why I'm walking this close to Whip," she retorted a bit pointedly, "I'm this close to him to keep him under control. If I were to give him a little more rein he'd maul you."

Fell rolled his eyes at his Deputy, "Oh sure, that's it."

Strider arched an eyebrow at Fell, a challenging glint in her eyes, "Are you trying to call my bluff?"

"You could say that, but keep in mind, if you do let the demon horse go and he kills me, it'll be premeditated," Fell pointed out, flashing a grin.

Strider snorted in derision and pulled her cloak a little tighter around her, "You make it sound as if they'll find the body."

A charming smile spread across Fell's face, one that told Strider he was trying to be suave. "Hey, I'm just saying you're cold and I'm warm, if you took a step closer we could make the whole world jealous."

"Jealous of what, how easy I can make murder look?" Strider shot back. She felt rather than saw Fell's grin. Fell's little jibes towards Strider were a constant joke between the two of them, a casual little exchange that expressed the standing friendship between them. In turn, Strider's retorts where just the same to Fell. It was just the musings of long time friends.

Fell had a witty reply rising to life in his mind when a scream rang out from somewhere to their left. The sound was hoarse and was cut short, a sharp yelp that was too faint to be caught by any Watchmen that might have been mingling in the crowd.

For both Fell and Strider to have heard it meant that the source had to be close. Looking around warily Strider peered into an alley, slowing her pace to a stop. She exchanged looks with Fell, not liking the look he returned to her. Just below the roar of the crowd close by Strider could hear a muffled yelp and the telltale sounds of a struggle. Strider's hand dropped to the knife at her belt, her hand finding the familiar hilt comforting.

"Leave the horses here," Fell told his Deputy, moving towards a wooden post outside a two story Inn. Whether the post was there for that purpose or not didn't matter to Fell, and he roped the reins around the wood tightly. Strider did the same, neglecting to take as much care as Fell.

The Shadows fell in step with one another, a cautious silence falling into play between them. Quietly they slipped into the alleyway, leaving the marketplace and all its racket behind them. It was surprisingly quieter in the narrow street where the noisy marketplace was reduced to a dull roar.

All the nights that Strider had spent trekking through the night helped her now, letting her eyes adjust to the dimly lit alleyway quickly like so many times before. For a moment Strider almost wished that her sight deceived her as she counted three figures standing over one huddled form. Strider could very well handle herself in a fight when faced with unlikely odds. Being a Shadow required that kind of tactic, but that didn't mean things always worked out as planned.

Strider could remember quite a few times when she'd been that huddled form, doubled over clutching a broken rib while three or four attackers dished out a beating she wasn't likely to forget, or even recover from. Each time Strider recalled someone else coming to her rescue, and now it was her turn to play that part.

"Hey," Fell called, and one of three—the tallest and broadest of them—turned to face Fell and Strider. The man was broad in the shoulders all the way down to his hips. With a bearded an pockmarked face he was a menacing sight, standing at least half a head taller than Fell. That, however, didn't stop Fell's confident step. Like any good Deputy, Strider followed her Leader without a second thought.

"Mind your business, thief," the man snapped at Fell in a baritone of a voice.

The other two faced Fell and Strider now, leaving the prone form alone for a moment. The two weren't as broad as the first, but just as tall. One had muddy brown hair, the other a reddish mop and crooked teeth. The red head held a long length of wood in one skinny hand, brandishing the stick as if it were as lethal as a sword.

"Leave the kid alone," Fell told them, gesturing to the huddled form.

The bearded man, who seemed to be the leader of the trio, shook his head. "We're not lettin' the whore go anywhere, so you'd best mind your business 'fore you get yours."

Fell exchanged a look of genuine curiosity with his Deputy, and his tone implied his confidence. "So how many goons do you think you can take?"

Strider leaned against the wall and shrugged at Fell, "I don't know Fell, they sure must be strong if the three of them can take down one defenseless girl." The sarcastic edge to Strider' voice was a bit too sharp, and the lead man stepped forward, his hand falling to his belt knife.

"Leave, or I'll cut your throat out girl," the man warned. Strider only rolled her eyes at him.

"I think he honestly thinks the odds are in his favor," Strider commented dryly. On the outside Strider seemed nonchalant and even arrogant, but on the inside she could feel her racing the way it always did when a fight was near. The odds weren't in Fell and Strider's favor, but the two were accustomed to it. Being a Shadow often meant fighting with unfair odds, and both Leader and Deputy were used to such occurrences. They made up for what they lacked in numbers in skill and tact.

A thin smile spread across Fell's face and his eyes danced coldly in the dim light of the alley. "Last chance, leave the kid alone and we'll let you go on your way. We don't want any more trouble than that."

"Too late, you already got more than you bargained for," with a jerk of his head the bearded man ushered him companions forward. Fell and Strider both took steps towards each other, their instincts working as one. Endless hours of practice had made Leader and Deputy a flawless duo, and all that came into play now.

They let the three men encircle them, shifting to stand back to back as they waited for the inevitable. The bearded man seemed content with focusing on Fell while the man with the mud colored hair lined up to face Strider. The third man was harder to anticipate, choosing to stay with his body facing Strider but his head turned towards Fell.

Like two horses pulling a carriage, Fell and Strider worked in unison falling easily into seemingly nonchalant stances. Their careless composure was made imperfect by the way their keen gazes traced their opponents' every move.

A dagger flicked itself into Strider's hand, sliding forth from some hidden sheath. She caught the familiar sound of Fell's own knife slipping from it's scabbard, and she felt his shoulder bump hers gently as he settled his stance a bit more carelessly.

"Well, it's your move," Fell said, and the bearded man surged forward at him suddenly. In the same moment Strider sprang at the man with the muddy hair, taking him by surprise.

Strider reversed the knife in her hand and struck the man on the jaw with the pommel, causing his head to snap painfully to one side. The blow wasn't enough to knock him out, but it staggered him sideways and gave Strider a chance at a follow up attack.

The man with the club rushed her before she could finish off his buddy, and she had to duck to avoid a crippling blow from the makeshift weapon when he swung it at her head.

From somewhere close by she heard the bearded man cry out as he was struck, presumably by Fell. Again the clubman was there to aid his companion, readying to strike Fell from behind.

Stepping in his way, Strider let him swing the club, catching the wood on crossed arms. Even with both wrist guards on it hurt a lot more than Strider had thought it would. Pain lanced along the top of her wrists, and she knew instantly that she'd have a bruise along the bone of her lower arm to remember the clubman by.

The clubman, as it seemed, would have something far worse than a minor bruise to remember Fell by. He'd twisted back around to his Deputy, slashing out at her attacker to lend a helping hand to her. His knife bit deep into the man's shoulder, and with a cry of pain he dropped the club and staggered sideways.

The fight continued in the same fashion, with each strike flowing easily into the next defense. In the end Fell and Strider stood alone in the alleyway save for the still crumpled form, the thugs were making a break for it and Fell watched them go with a loathing gaze. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he worked to catch his breath after the encounter. With a glance at her he found Strider to be in the same condition, and satisfied that neither of them had been injured during their would-be rescue attempt, he strode to the huddled form.

"Excuse me, miss, are you alright?" He said, his voice softening as he sheathed his knife and knelt by the woman.

"I-I didn't hurt anyone, I promise, just let me go…" She cried, her voice tainted with that of a person in a drunken stupor.

The huddled form moaned and flinched away from Fell's hand when he gently placed it on her shoulder. Strider gave him a skeptical look, "What do you think we should do with her? She's not in any condition to be dropped at an Inn, not when those thugs are still around, and definitely not when she's babbling like this."

Fell sighed, "You're right, I guess we could take her back to the House and let her stay the day, just until we can be sure we can get her home safely and until she regains her ground."

Strider nodded, "Take her back to the House then, I'll run for a Healer."

Finding himself in agreement with his Deputy, Fell slipped his arms under the beaten and bloodied form of the girl and stood, following Strider from the alley.

Mounting Timber while holding the girl turned out to be quite a challenge, and when Fell finally got in the saddle Strider was already waiting for him. Strider had neglected to fully saddle Whiplash, hoping to give him a break from the weight of having to be ridden and now had to ride bareback. She silently reminded herself that it may pay to brush up on riding in such a fashion as she could barely hold her place on Whiplash's back.

"Are you going to be okay riding like that?" Fell asked her, looking a bit challenged himself as Timber danced under the combined weight of both Fell and the girl.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Fell grinned wanly, "We will, but be careful. I'll see you at the House."

"Like wise," Strider murmured, urging her horse away from Fell's. Out of the corner of her eye Strider thought she saw the girl move to peek around Fell at her. She couldn't be sure of it, but Strider thought it suspicious.

_That's absurd, _she thought, dismissing the idea that the girl might be anything other than helpless in her current state. _She's just a girl, maybe a young woman at the oldest, nothing else._

Time and time again people had thought the same thing about Strider, underestimating her talents as nothing more than a rare fluke. Of course, it never occurred to Strider as she nudged Whiplash forward that there might just be another someone like her out there.

* * *

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	4. A Rivalry of Blood

**Chatper 4. Took me forever, I know, and I apologize once more. The good news is I'm on Christmas break, and I should have more time to write. **

**NOTE: This Chapter is a mighty big chunk of text. It's mainly talk of the characters, but it foreshadows of several things that have yet come to pass in this story. I suggest reading this in parts, with lots of breaks for drinks and sugary snacks. =)**

**Please read and review, favorite and alert. It's all appreciated. =)**

* * *

Fell's House very quickly became a sight of both wonder and calamity. The three Ranger's and their charge reached the House first to be greeted by Gilan, who was already there having coffee with Kerjack. Kerjack was among the rare few Shadow's that had a place in the King's Council. He'd only shown his face among the Council a handful of times, and yet he was well liked. Just about everyone who'd met Kerjack had reason to like him, and people admired his ability to make those around him feel important.

In person Kerjack wasn't what many would call an impressive sight. He was a little over average height with dark hair and a beard to match. Both were beginning to grey, and yet Kerjack still often participated in the skirmishes that were the Shadow's battles. At the sight of the Ranger's and Grady he only smiled and gestured towards the table.

"Make yourselves at home," he told them, his keen gaze sweeping easily over the Ranger's he'd already met. His gaze came to rest on Grady, and Kerjack frowned in thought. "You're familiar, but I don't think we've met." Kerjack offered his hand in greeting to Grady, who returned the gesture awkwardly with his left hand.

"I'm Grady, it must be my niece you're remembering."

"Kerjack," The Shadow said with a kind nod, "and you're niece is?"

"Jane, but I'm told she goes by something else around here."

Kerjack looked surprised at Grady's words, "Strider's you're niece?" Kerjack was dumbfounded by the suggestion.

Grady shrugged, "That depends on who Strider is."

Slightly ruffled Kerjack resettled himself at his place leaning on the counter, the signs of his puzzlement were quickly being replaced by a warm acceptance. "You do kind of have that certain look about you like she does," he decided. "I suppose you like coffee?"

The many house guests settled themselves about the table, and had even begun to make a bit of idle conversation when Fell came home, a young woman leaning against his shoulder. She was wrapped in his cloak and looked mystified at the sight of the men seated at the table. When their eyes flicked to her she took a fearful step closer to Fell.

"It's ok, they don't bite," Fell told her. He offered a smile at them, and wondered how unfitting it must be to see the leader of the Shadows stepping in with a befuddled woman clinging to one arm.

"You're definitely not Jane," Grady affirmed, breaking the silence that had settled over the table. Grady himself had taught Strider the basics of hand to hand combat, and he was sure he had taught her better than to come home speckled with bruises, and certainly not on the arm of a rogue.

"She sure isn't."

Strider's voice sounded oddly coy, almost as if she'd rather not be heard in a room so crowded. In all honesty with so many looking at her she'd rather wished she'd gotten lost on her way back to the House. At least that way she wouldn't have to suffer through the many gazes settling on her, even if it was only for a moment before they found something better to look at. Strider stepped aside to let the short and rather plump woman who was the local healer through.

"Why didn't anyone tell me you had such guests?" The healer murmured, stopping to embarrassedly straighten her clothing. "I would've spiffed up had I known I could find another husband here."

Kerjack grinned, "Afternoon, Anis."

The old healer smiled, "Afternoon to you to," she greeted him, tugging off her coat and handing it to him. "I'll have you know I'm not a day over forty," she told the other men in the room, smiling humorously. The woman didn't face them long enough to see their bemused looks, but instead turned once more to face the battered girl. The healer put her hands on her hips and scrutinized the girl. Kerjack took the coat and hung it up just as another Shadow poked their head in the room and gestured to him. Kerjack went to him and disappeared into the hall with an apologetic smile.

"What hurts most girl?"

The girl sidled closer still to Fell. The healer arched an eyebrow at her patient.

"Must be the talking," she surmised. "maybe it wouldn't be such a feat if we had a private place to speak?"

Fell smiled apologetically, realizing that his Deputy was giving him a curious look. She shook her head ever so slightly before turning to the healer.

"I think we have a full house, but you can use my room for the time being. D'you still know where it is?"

The healer rolled her eyes, "I'm not so old as to forget where you of all Shadows spends their mornings passed out sleeping." Anis gestured to the girl, and a bit reluctantly the injured woman shuffled forward to be led off by the healer.

Fell seemed to relax a little once they'd gone. Again he was fixed with a deciphering stare from his Deputy.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I haven't decided yet," she told him before she headed towards the table. "I'm guessing that you know who Grady is?" Strider asked, her gaze flicking from one Ranger to the next. Crowley nodded. She surmised that Fell hadn't met him just yet, and so she gestured towards the two men in turn. "Fell, that's my uncle Grady, uncle Grady, that's Fell."

"And he's your… Husband?" Grady guessed, his gaze full of skepticism and just a hint of dismay.

Strider looked almost surprised by the assumption, "No, and I don't have one of those. They aren't good for many things in this line of work you know. And I don't have any children either."

"So what is he?"

Fell shrugged, a bit embarrassed by the guess at the relationship between him and his Deputy. Why was it that everyone made the same awkward assumption? "I'm her leader. I think I've heard of you. You're the uncle who likes to sail?"

Grady nodded, "That's me." His gaze drifted to Strider, "I hadn't thought you'd mention my business to just anyone."

Strider took a seat at the table and gestured for Fell to do the same. "You might as well sit down, they didn't come here just for the coffee." Fell frowned before he slowly found a chair beside his Deputy. "Fell's not just anyone, and he can keep a secret."

Grady still wasn't sure about the man seated next to his niece. He'd learned a lot over the years, and one thing he always kept in mind about his business was that the more who knew, the more likely he was to get caught.

"Business?" Crowley asked, suddenly feeling as if he was the one that they were hiding the secrets from.

"I'm in the business of sailing," he told Crowley.

"Then shouldn't we have known before?" Gilan asked, "Most ships and their captains are known among Araluen. Especially if it's a noble who's on the ship."

Grady sighed and tried to decide the best way to break the news to the Ranger's. "I'm a captain of a ship, but we don't do trade with the other ships in Araluen. I'm more of an… Opportunist."

Crowley's eyebrows rose at that, "You're a pirate?"

Fell was only a breath behind Crowley, but he was looking at Strider when he spoke. "You're a noble?"

Grady and Strider exchanged looks before either one of them spoke. "You might as well go first," Grady told her. "I can't really explain being a pirate any sweeter than that."

Strider shrugged, "I _was_ a noble," Strider told the men at the table. "and not a very good one at that. My family is only one of the minor lords of the mountains, and are just half a step above the common folk."

"What do you mean, 'was'?" Halt asked, curious. Not a hint of it showed on his grim face, but he was glad Crowley had asked him along. He was learning a lot more about the Shadow's Deputy than he had thought the interrogation might reveal. On the contrary, Strider seemed almost willing to tell them.

"She ran away when she was fifteen," Grady said, and Strider smiled wanly and nodded.

"I didn't want to get married," Strider explained shortly. "I thought I'd take up thievery instead. So!" She said, gesturing to the guests gathered at the table. "Who figured it out first?"

Rowan looked to Gilan, who looked to Halt, who looked to Crowley. Strider's grin never reached her eyes.

"Ah, I had a feeling it would be you. You almost caught me the night I read the letter."

"Letter? What letter?" Fell asked. He looked around the table, a bit dismayed to find that everyone else seemed to know but him. The confusion seemed to be traveling around the table in a circuit. First Crowley, now Fell.

"The letter that I brought with me," Grady explained. "I was the messenger from the mountains."

Fell had heard about the messenger and the letter he carried, he just hadn't thought that Strider's uncle had been the very same. Thinking about it Fell realized that it made good sense. Fell had already known that Strider was from the mountains, he just hadn't thought she was anything more than common. Of course, she seemed content with being thought so.

"And you read it?" Fell questioned. He didn't feel the need to add that Strider had read it without permission. There was no doubt in his mind that reading the letter meant she'd done something unlawful. Fell decided that it made two deceptions she'd racked up. One for stealing from the Shadow's allies and another for not being honest with Fell about her heritage. Fell couldn't help it, he felt almost wounded knowing that Strider had chosen not to tell him about where she came from.

Strider shrugged indecisively, "Yes… But only to see how much was really true. I told you about the rumors I'd been hearing about the mountains. Grady was the first messenger to make it here with more than just here say about the mountains. I didn't want to let the chance of knowing what was really going on slip by."

Crowley quirked the corner of his lips, thinking. "What makes you think that the King wouldn't have told you what the letter said?"

Everything that Fell had learned suddenly clicked cleanly into place. Before he could think things through to make sure he wasn't jumping to conclusions the words were already spilling from his mouth.

"We were there."

The many sets of eyes at the table settled on him, questioning. Fell realized too late what he'd said.

Rowan watched, wide eyed as Halt and Crowley exchanged looks. The young apprentice was beginning to understand why they'd really come here. It was not to reunite Grady and his niece, it was to drag the secrets from the Shadows. As it was turning out, there was a lot they'd been hiding, and still more that Rowan had yet to grasp. Looking around him at all the confused looks on his fellow Ranger's faces, he realized that Fell had caught them all off guard. Even Grady looked dumbfounded.

"The Shadows came from the south," Fell said slowly, "we followed the Cult north and farther into Araluen, and now the Cult's back in the south again."

Halt quickly recovered his ground on what Fell was getting at. By the Leader's reaction the Ranger was beginning to think that the Shadows hadn't known all of what Crowley had thought.

"And you think that we think that you knew all along what the Cult was doing in the South, and didn't say a thing," Halt finished for him. He didn't feel the need to add that there might be a reason they'd be dishonest about something like that. Surely they could connect the dots, and maybe decipher the tricky little tumble of words that Halt had uttered.

"We didn't know," Strider told them. "When we moved north it was because we we're sure that the Cult was through with the south. They never really wanted much there, and were a lot less of a problem than they are now."

"If they're still there…" Gilan murmured to no one in particular, "then that's probably where they originated, or are originating."

Strider watched as the men at the table exchanged a diverse mix of looks. She herself looked to Fell, and his eyes were filled with an almost bitter edge. "We go back," she said.

Fell shook his head, "No. That's not going to happen."

Rowan found the dark look that Grady shot Fell quite interesting. The sailor's eyes narrowed at Fell, "Why not?"

"Yes," Crowley agreed, "I'm curious. Why wouldn't the Shadows be willing to go back to the south?"

Strider and Fell exchanged looks that seemed to suggest they were having a silent war over who would speak first.

"Well," Grady prompted. "Out with it. What happened? I want to know who killed the Baron's son and said it was Jane."

Crowley's gaze settled on Strider and Fell. He'd known about a past murder that Strider had been a part of, and from what he'd learned on the Shadows, they often made their deals with dark hands. Of course, he'd never thought they'd go so far as to kill one of the King's nobles.

"So this is what you've been hiding," Halt said quietly.

"Not hiding," Fell told them, "deliberating on."

Strider's gaze flicked from face to face before she caught Grady's gaze. "There's not much to deliberate. No one is wrong when they say I was… Involved."

Fell didn't like where things were going, and he cut in before anyone could jump to conclusions. "Strider's not to blame for his death either."

Grady's eyes shot to Fell. The sailor seemed bent on accusing Fell of the murder for some odd reason. "So it was you?"

"No," Strider said quickly.

"Then who was it?" Gilan asked. He was beginning to wonder just how much the Shadows weren't telling. He'd known both Strider and Fell for just a few months, but they'd seemed alright enough folk for him.

"Me."

Strider and Fell spoke the word simultaneously, and they looked at each other, both angry at the other for attempting to take the blame they believed was theirs.

"Don't lie and say you helped," Strider told him sharply.

"I'm not lying," Fell retorted, "I was with you, and you used my knife."

"Then you both killed him," Halt decided, "what's more important here is _why_."

For a moment Fell and Strider were silent, once more deliberating. Fell's emerald eyes were unusually guarded. He realized he'd once looked to the Ranger's as his friends among the Kingdom. Fell just wasn't sure anymore. Telling them the truth straight forward might put his Deputy on uneasy terms with the King and his followers.

The alliance between Araluen and the Shadows had done wonder for the rogues that Fell led. Instead of struggling to provide what little could be pilfered from small towns and villages, the King had taken up to duty of giving the Shadows a roof over their heads and food on their plates. If something were to happen to Strider because of the death of Baron Bryce's son, Fell wasn't sure what he would do. He owed it to the men who made up the Shadows and granted him their loyalty to stay allied with Araluen. Of course, Fell owed Strider just as much. How could he stand by and let his Deputy be charged with murder when he had taken part as well?

"Self defense," Strider said quietly. She'd taken to staring at the edge of table, trying to recall as much of that night as possible. Most of it Strider would rather forget. "I hadn't started it. I only ended it."

"More or less an accident," Fell added. "We never went to that castle to kill anyone. We were just scouting, and things got… Out of hand."

"_Really_ out of hand," Strider's gaze rose slowly, "It was meant to be a quick walk around the castles boundaries. When Cliff saw Bryce's son leading a troop of Cult back to the castle we followed them."

Fell looked almost ashamed, "It was a bad idea. We should've gone back to camp and told…" Fell's words dropped off suddenly. He felt the eyes of the others on him. He hadn't thought that the death of the former leader would still sting so much to think about.

"Told the others," Strider finished for him. Her usually fiery hazel gaze was like a banked fire. "But we didn't. We went over the wall, and we found the army."

"Army?" Grady asked, incredulous.

"The beginning of one," Fell murmured, "they were camped all over the courtyard, all wearing the colors of the Cult. It was a bit frightening to the six of us. We watched them, and Jared—Bryce's son—was walking with a soldier and a woman. I'd thought we'd seen all we needed to see. So we left."

"I stayed behind longer that I should have. The details aren't exactly important," Strider murmured. "It can be told a lot of ways. You can see it as murder, straight and plain, or you can see it as a coincidental incident. Either way, I'm not proud of it, but I held the knife that slew Bryce's son."

Fell couldn't help but feel almost impaired. In a way he felt it was his job to stick up for his Deputy and say something in her defense, but what could he say? He stayed silent, deciding that any words he could speak would only work to make things worse.

"You certainly don't seemed ashamed of it," Crowley said softly.

Strider shrugged and flashed a guileless half smile, "Regret and shame are two very different things, and it's a bit of a stretch even to say that I feel even one of those emotions."

Grady sighed, but he nodded his assent. He could understand that his niece might harbor hate for the Baron's family. "There has been a longstanding rivalry between the families," Grady began, drawing the Ranger's interest. "While Bryce may be the Baron of the mountains and hold control over all the minor lords there are some things that lie outside his jurisdiction. Bryce and his predecessors have never been quite sound with the fact that the minor lords have control of who comes and goes in there own boundaries."

Gilan recalled learning a bit about the unrest between the mountain provinces. "It's almost brought about civil war, hasn't it?"

Reluctantly, Grady nodded. "It has, and it probably always will. Bryce never approved of the Minke tribes that reside in the Crewe valley. He believed that the way we regard them is wrong in a sense. They've always been courteous to us, and we have no reason to be any different to them. They migrate, moving from our valley to Bryce's and down to the rocky shore on the far side of the mountains to hunt whale when the season is right. Eventually Bryce decided he didn't want them crossing his land, for whatever reason I'm not sure, but he tried to have Bran drive them off."

Halt tugged thoughtfully at his beard, like Gilan he'd heard enough of the unrest in the mountains to infer what had happened. "He refused."

Strider scoffed, "It was the one thing he did that I actually think I agree with."

"There wasn't much that Bryce could do about the Minke. By all rights he couldn't force Bran to do anything about them. He could however, make sure that the Minke were confined to Crewe's land only. Any who dare to venture to another minor Lord's holding will find nothing for them but the edge of a blade."

Gilan was beginning to see where things were going, and he felt a bit of sympathy for the way things were in the South. "I take it the Crewe's have many colorful names for befriending the Minke."

Strider snorted in derision, "If only it were just names."

Crowley glanced at the window and felt a stab of regret as his saw how far the sun had dipped down, "As informative as this was, I do believe I have to be going." The Ranger wished he had set aside more time for this, but he had matters to attend to before the day was out, and at this rate he might never get around to them. "I'm sorry," he apologized as he rose, "I hadn't expected so much to be said in such short time, but there's one more thing I'd like to ask before I go."

Halt had mimicked Crowley's actions, with Rowan following a moment after. It seemed as if everyone had things to attend to as the daylight threatened to die away. Gilan partly wished he could rise with them, but he had his duties to attend to as well, those of which inclined him to stay where he was. He noticed how Crowley's gaze settled suspiciously on Strider before he spoke.

"How did you read the letter? First it was there, and then it wasn't. After you left the Castle I went back to check again, and there it was, with the seal untouched."

Strider smiled meekly, "The letter never left the room, I was hiding under the bed when you checked for it the first time." Strider's smile grew at the look on Crowley's face, one of muted disbelief. "I read it, and then I put it back and left while you were still looking for me."

"And the seal?"

Strider tugged a thin silver chain away from her neck and popped the clasp. She slid a ring off the chain and passed it to Crowley. The Ranger took it, inspecting the face of the signet ring thoroughly. "This is not a fake ring," he said, his gaze filling with interest. The ring was identical to the seal that stamped the letter.

"I know it isn't," Strider retorted, "and it's not stolen either. Believe it or not it was a gift of sorts."

Grady sounded incredulous, "From Bran?"

Strider nodded, "I was told it would put my mother at ease if she knew I had it whenever I should need something to remind me of home."

"That's the closest show of affection you'll get from him," Grady said in a matter of fact way.

"And my grudging acceptance of it is the only show of affection he'll get in return," Strider told him in the same tone of voice. Grady sighed. Sometimes he just couldn't understand why his brother and his niece never saw eye to eye on anything. They'd been at odds ends since Strider was a teenager, and Grady had held onto a hope that things between them might mend once Strider was older.

"You and your father don't get along?" Halt asked. Crowley handed the ring back to Strider, who looped it back onto the thin chain.

"No, we never really have."

Grady huffed, "It's only because they're too damn alike."

"I am nothing like him," Strider murmured quietly. Her response was halfhearted enough to give Grady a sense of satisfaction. Perhaps the years spent away from home had made her see things in a different light after all.

"Pardon me, gentleman, Miss Broken Bones," the healer said, nodding to the men and to Strider in turn. She'd reemerged from the hall with the woman at her side, pausing to reclaim her coat. "The girl is feeling better, and would like to go home. I suggest that one of you handsome young fellows takes her there."

Fell suppressed a sigh and rose, feeling a trickle of warmth. Simply the thought of getting away from all that he had suddenly learned sounded good to him. He hadn't liked hearing any of it. He could understand why Strider might keep such things to herself, but that didn't take the sting of being the last to know out of the matter. Fell had thought they might be closer than that.

"Have fun, younglings," Anis advised, she smiled and headed for the door, stopping to link arms with Halt. Rowan was surprised to see what might have been a look of surprise cross his mentor's face. It was gone before Rowan could be sure he'd seen it at all.

"I trust that you and I will, eh Ranger?" Anis teased.

"I do have a wife you know," Halt mentioned, his voice not unkind.

Anis only smiled broader, "Ah I see, a man of experience," the healer turned to look at her most recent patient. "I do hope you feel better my dear, and as for you," Anis's gaze flicked to Strider. "Don't you dare strain your side, for another bruised rib will be the least of your problems if I get word of you being reckless."

Strider shrunk under the healer's warning look, a mulish look twisting the corner of her lips. The elderly healer was very much the mother hen, and yet Strider couldn't complain. Quarreling with Anis had become an odd routine part of Strider's life, one that she had come accustomed to.

The Ranger's and Shadows traded goodbyes before they left, Fell and the girl following not long after. Seeing Anis with her arm linked with Halt's inclined Fell to offer his own arm to the girl. Shyly she wrapped her arm with his, and Fell dared to ask her name.

Rowan heard their soft words fade into obscurity as they went their separate ways. Rowan felt more at ease now that he was away from the Shadows. His opinion of them hadn't improved much, and knowing all of what they'd kept hidden only seemed to deepen his distaste for them. The apprentice felt an urge to ask his mentor a question, but he bit his tongue.

"What is it?" Crowley asked, noticing the skittish look on Rowan's face. He'd fallen back to walk beside the apprentice, deciding to leave Halt and Anis to their talk. Anis was a good healer and a merry old woman, and she'd got to teasing Halt about the look of his beard.

"It looks as if you shave it with your own knife," she mentioned.

Halt sighed, "So I've been told and serenaded so."

Crowley couldn't suppress the grin that crossed his face as he thought of Will and a certain song he'd once sung before a fire. He turned his attention away from the fond memory and back to Rowan.

"Don't be shy, what's bothering you?" Crowley waited for Rowan to speak up, wondering idly how much Rowan had picked up from the little interrogation. It was one thing to listen to talk and another to put things together and make sense of it all.

"Is it wrong to kill someone and not feel regret?" Rowan heard himself asking.

Crowley sighed, a cold look flickering in his eyes. "It's hard to say you can always divide right and wrong without knowing the whole truth of something. It's easy enough to say that murder can in certain ways be justified in the eyes of some people, but to others it may still be wrong. What Strider did may have been something justified in some people's eyes," Crowley felt a stir of uncertainty stir inside him, "and in others it can be seen as treachery, or even treason."

Rowan felt oddly fearful, of what he couldn't be sure. He'd never much like Strider, and it was all too easy to imagine her with madness lighting her gaze and a bloody knife in one hand. The apprentice swallowed hard, not liking where his thoughts were leading. Rowan decided his opinion of Strider didn't matter very much, he'd never work up much courage to say anything to her, let alone act against her for killing a Baron's son.

Of course, the King might not be fearful of acting against Strider as Rowan was.

* * *

**Well, that's it. Please read and review, if only to guess at what you think shall happen next. =)**


	5. There and Back Again

**It's been ages and ages since I updated any of my stories. I know, it sucks. =\ I had a lot going on in school, but, as of tonight, I officially turned in all my projects. I should be good to write and update like a maniac until next Monday. I'm sure my Biology teacher will have invented a new time consuming form of torture by then. **

**SO! On another note, I want to keep this short and sweet. Marek is a character, the very same from The Shadows of the South. Meric, on the other hand, same pronunciation different spelling, is a fief that Gilan is Ranger to. Remember that. =)**

**Enjoy this chapter, thanks for the reviews, and read the little note at the bottom. =)**

* * *

"Marek has returned!"

Gilan, Grady and Strider found themselves looking at yet another someone who had business with Fell. Marek, a senior Shadow, barged into the main room with a broad smile on his face. It didn't come as much of a surprise to Gilan. Marek always seemed to be beaming about something. He was taller and broader than Fell, with longer hair a keener interest in women.

"Hold the applause," he said, stopping in the doorway to hold up a hand, "hush your cries, and wipe your tears, Marek's here my dears."

Strider found herself grinning, happy to see her friend back on his feet. His recent injury had been a scary experience for the Shadows. Often the bearer of humorous words and a strong helping hand when needed, Marek had become something of an officer among the Shadows. He'd stepped up to take control of some of the duties Strider couldn't do when she was recovering. Strider couldn't help but feel guilty for the pain he'd endured when he'd offered to make her life a little easier. Marek had almost lost his life doing Strider's duties.

Strider rose, and Marek made a great show of lunging across the room, "Don't faint! I know I'm gorgeous, but I can't stand to see a pretty face go pale!"

Before Strider could reply Marek had pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. "You have no idea how great it is to see old friends," he murmured before he let her go, moving forward to squeeze hands with Gilan.

"Gilly, my boy!" Marek exclaimed, and dragged him into a similar embrace. "How's your purse, ready for a few games of cards I hope."

Gilan grinned and clapped Marek on the shoulder, "I won't lose this time," the Ranger promised.

Marek laughed, a mischievous light in his eyes, "We'll see about that." Marek's gaze settled on Grady, who hadn't risen with the others to greet the Shadow. Marek seemed unaffected by Grady's apparent disregard, and instead spread his arms wide, "Don't be shy, come and give me a hug."

Grady stood and instead offered his one good hand to Marek, something cynical flashing in his eyes. "Or we could shake hands," Grady told him.

Marek did so cheerfully, "I'm Marek, in case you didn't catch the name. You look familiar, do I know you?"

"I'm Strider's uncle, Grady."

"Ah, you have an uncle!" Marek proclaimed, "And he's a sailor!"

"How did you know he—" Strider began, but Marek laughed.

"How could I not know? That was the walk-the-plank look he just gave me," Marek explained, "I was on the coast for almost a month, you might be surprised to know that's not the first time I've gotten that look."

"I'm astonished," Grady remarked dryly. "You're a Shadow too then?"

Marek gave a slight nod of his head, "Am and always will be," he declared. Marek seemed almost boastful of the fact, and a proud glint entered his eyes as he spoke. Grady simply shrugged, indifferent to Marek's line of work.

"Can't say you aren't all too much different from pirates. I think if you had a ship you'd be something deadly," Grady told him.

Strider had to smile, "That's a rare compliment," she noted, "you're not going soft in your old age, are you?"

Grady scoffed, "Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He pushed his chair in and gestured to the door, "that reminds me, we've got some catching up to do. Let's eat, I've a lot to say to you." Grady's gaze flicked to Gilan and Marek, a gesture that Strider often favored, "You're welcome to come with us if you'd like. The more the merrier."

Gilan shrugged, "I think we have to be leaving soon," the Ranger told them, wishing he could stay. He was meant to lead a small contingent of foot soldiers and Shadows alike to the border of Meric fief, where a group of Cult followers had made themselves apparent. Gilan doubted there would be time to settle down for dinner, not when the soldiers and Shadows still needed to be assembled.

"He's right, we have to round up the children," Marek said, echoing Gilan's thoughts. "Besides, you two don't want us intruding on family matters."

"You're sure you don't want to come with us?" Strider asked, trying to be kind to them. "We're Crewe's, we really don't care who knows our business." Strider found it odd to be speaking the family name after so long. She wasn't even quite sure if it was right of her to do so. Strider had been away from home for a long time, maybe they didn't consider her part of the family anymore.

"We'd hate to impose," Gilan said, siding with Marek. "Perhaps another time."

Grady's lips moved slightly, showing the barest hints of a smile, "Another time," he echoed, "definitely. You look almost as thin as Janie does. Why doesn't anyone eat around here?"

Gilan shrugged, thinking of all the times Halt had made similar jibes at him. "What can we say? The food just isn't that great."

Grady scoffed, "There was a day when young people we're grateful to eat whatever was put on their plate."

Marek let out a short bout of laughter as he leaned on the tall back of a chair. "Careful, you haven't had Fell's cooking. Don't be so quick to insult, we might make you try whatever he slops in a pot and simmers for dinner tomorrow night."

There was no hiding the grin that tugged at Strider's lips, "It's not that bad, it's just not ideal. We just tend to like it better when people cook things that are actually meant to be eaten."

Rolling his eyes Grady gestured to the door, ignoring the exchanged grins that passed between the Ranger's and the Shadows. Gilan had tried Fell's cooking before. It wasn't terrible, but like Strider said, it wasn't exactly favorable either.

"Come on, J, dinner is on me," Grady called as he headed for the door, commenting dryly, "seeing as it might be your only decent meal for a while." He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes noticeably friendlier when he did so. "Good luck, boys," the sailor told the two men, and felt the need to leave them with a bit of encouragement.

"Try not to die. Next time you'll come with us and eat something you'll actually enjoy. I'm not taking no for an answer."

* * *

Rowan walked alongside Crowley as the two of them trailed after Halt and Anis. The two seemed to be getting along well enough, and if Rowan listened carefully he could hear Anis telling Halt about her husband at home. Rowan frowned at that. Hadn't Anis said she was single? Beside the apprentice Crowley seemed to be hearing the same thing, but unlike Rowan, Crowley seemed generally amused by the words.

"Well this is far enough," Anis said as she stopped on a narrow lane by the first little home. "I would hate for George to see a good looking fellow like you and get all protective."

With that Anis gave Halt a kiss on the cheek and bid the three Ranger's farewell.

"I think she liked you," Crowley remarked as Halt rejoined them. They headed back up the cobbled street and towards the castle. The crowd had thinned considerably, and as dusk fell torches were lit, casting the street into brilliant firelight.

Halt shrugged indifferently. "I do believe I've already found the only woman for me."

Rowan couldn't quite contain the words that sprang to his lips in reply. "Who says you have to have just one?"

Crowley and Halt exchanged looks and eyed Rowan funnily. Rowan wasn't quite sure how else to name the look his mentor and Commandant gave him.

"Well—It's—I didn't," Rowan stumbled over his words. "It's just what I heard, from the men-at-arms in Meric."

Halt shrugged at that. There wasn't much to say to his apprentice, he knew how he felt about Pauline, that was all that mattered to him. As for Rowan, well, he'd learn more about women in time, and Halt would see to it he got the right morals.

"At least you listen to something," the grim Ranger remarked. By all appearances Halt looked stern, maybe even rebuking. "Don't be so gullible, don't believe everything you hear."

"What else did you hear anyways?" Crowley asked, curious. The men-at-arms in Meric fief we're likely closer to the battle than the Capital was, and if Rowan had heard they're talk of women then me might've heard talk of other things. Some of which that probably pertained to the ambushes they'd been facing. Formal reports always differed from the hearsay of the witnesses, and it was good in any case to listen to both.

For a moment Rowan looked too abashed to speak, but at Crowley's encouraging nod he straightened a bit and thought carefully of his words. He recalled the last time he'd been in Meric, visiting his brother as he occasionally did. His elder brother was the Battlemaster of Meric fief, and with war drawing ever closer Cedric was spending more and more time off in skirmishes than safe at home. Cedric made pains to see Rowan, something that his little brother was ever grateful for. Rowan hadn't been close to his family, but it hadn't made loosing them any easier.

"I went patrolling, with Cedric and some of the men. Afterwards they were cooking around a fire while a few did a quick round of the campsite. That's when they started talking, about all kinds of things."

Rowan remembered the dark night and the low fire. Cedric had allowed a simple fire to be lit for cooking, and it burned low as the bland stew was dished out among the men. Being Cedric's little brother had made it courtesy for the men to be fair to him. He got an equal share of the work and of the food served. Gaining his place among their fire was something else altogether, and Rowan had managed to do that all on his own. It was one thing to share a fire with the men-at-arms, and another to find friends among them.

"They don't like the Shadows," Rowan said, remembering the bitter remark from one pock faced man. "Some think that they're thieves, stealing from the King's coffers."

Halt pondered that for a moment. He'd heard much the same rumor in Redmont, most of it coming from the soldiers and men-at-arms who hadn't yet fought alongside the Shadows. Still, the Ranger had seen the discomfort the Shadows inspired in the men, and even the knights. They were not well liked across Araluen, even if they did do a bit of good for the Kingdom.

"They aren't exactly alone in their accusations," Crowley said, echoing Halt's thoughts. "Not everyone has taken well to the Shadows. They have a tendency to revert too easily to…," Crowley frowned as he searched for a suitable word. "Dishonorable actions," he said eventually. "It does not sit well with some."

Rowan could see why it wouldn't. Thieving itself was not well looked upon, and thieves were often considered below the common people. Nuisances they were, and not many had good experiences with them. It didn't bode well for them or the Shadows. It was simply too easy to accuse someone with a shady past of a shady present.

"Isn't it true that the ends sometimes justify the means?" Rowan felt as if he was stepping out onto a limb of a tree, trusting his weight to the swaying branch beneath him. The apprentice braced himself for another rebuke.

Halt nodded to his apprentice, "Sometimes." The Ranger knew that Rowan had been a thief before Cedric had taken him under his wing, and his view of thievery was quite different than the average man's. Luckily, so was Halt's, and after a bit of deliberation he'd offered Rowan a chance to be his apprentice. Of course, that meant that all thoughts and acts of thievery were banished from Rowan's life.

"Robbing a rich man to feed your dying family," Crowley said, presenting an example, "is almost justifiable." The commandant frowned, "Almost, anyways. To some it is, to some it isn't."

Rowan was still wary of his words, and he spoke slowly, waiting for the disapproving look that never came. "Like Bryce's son's death?"

"Curious, how we've come back to that so soon," Crowley remarked. "Yes, something like that."

Halt couldn't help but notice how keen his apprentice was becoming, but even the grim Ranger knew that not all cages were meant to be rattled. He could imagine for a moment Strider as a fire eyed dog, snarling as someone kicked the iron bars of a cage.

The Ranger didn't doubt that Strider would put up a fight if the King sought to take action. In truth, Halt felt that he was anticipating the inevitable.

* * *

Fell and Heather, the woman he and his Deputy had rescued, were moving along at a meandering pace. It hadn't taken long before the woman had struck up a conversation, and Fell was beginning to dread the steps that brought them closer to her home. It had been a while since Fell had talked to someone else who's mind wasn't forever plagued with the hardships of the war. Fell was finding a free spirit worked well to lighten his own.

"What about your nose? Have you ever broken it?"

Heather had a nice voice when she spoke without fear, her words winding together in a sort of melody. Oddly enough Fell found it familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Several times," Fell replied, smiling wanly. Heather had taken to questioning him about past injuries, and he couldn't help but be honest with her. Perhaps it was the fawning that followed he enjoyed so much.

"It doesn't look like it," Heather challenged.

Fell shrugged, "I had it set the last time it broke, just a few months ago actually."

"How'd it break?"

The Shadow recalled the incident, and felt warmth creep into his face. "I didn't exactly break it in battle that last time, it was sort of an accident to be honest. A friend of mine was moving a long plank of wood, and he had it on his shoulder. He was walking in front of me, and someone behind him called his name. When he turned, the plank hit me."

Heather looked shocked, "That must've been horrible!"

Again Fell found himself shrugging. He wondered why it was he shrugged so much.

"It wasn't so bad," he murmured modestly, "it hurt at first and bled a bit. It was worse when they set it straight. We laugh about it now. Marek, the Shadow who hit me, always taunts and tells me not to misbehave or he'll plank me again."

"That's horrible!" Heather exclaimed, but she was smiling, "I guess that means you'll have to home before late to avoid another broken nose, and you can't possibly stay for dinner?"

Fell looked to her in surprise, feeling slightly charmed by the confident look in Heather's eyes.

"Please? My sister will want to know where I've been, and my story might be more convincing if I had you by my side."

It occurred to Fell for a moment that supper wouldn't be such a bad thing. He was hungry, and it had been a while since he'd been in favorable company, outside of the Shadows of course. It wasn't as if Fell disliked his comrades. He enjoyed being around them but too often found himself speaking of the problems that faced the Shadows. For once it felt good to talk to someone who didn't have a story of battle to tell or some fresh bit of news for him to chew over.

No, Heather didn't read forth challenges or difficulties that had sudden arisen in the night. She didn't seem at all burdened with the impeding war as the Shadows were. Heather was a sort of bliss, a little taste of a worry free life. Fell wasn't sure he wanted to give up his freedom just yet, but there was no way he could stay for supper and leave Strider to deal with the work on her lonesome.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can stay," Fell said with a sigh, "there's quite a bit of work to be done at home."

Heather looked crestfallen as she stopped at a short half cobbled walk that led to a stout little home set back from the road. "Oh, another time then?" To Fell's surprise Heather took his hand as she spoke. Her eyes were warm and hopeful, and Fell found it hard to turn down the offer.

"I'd like that," he admitted, and felt that he meant it.

A kind smile spread across Heather's face, the gesture strikingly resplendent. "That's great! I should go though, before my sister worries." Heather let go of Fell's hand before she turned to trot up the walk. "Bye Fell," she called back over her shoulder as she flashed that smile at him once more.

"Good bye," Fell called back. He stood for a moment more, mesmerized by the way Heather's hair bounced along her shoulders as she ran.

* * *

"You've grown," Grady mentioned, his voice softer than before. Dinner had been a simple choice, and the two had gotten a table at a respectable tavern to dine quietly together. So far they had only been served bread and water and the conversation was still idle. They spoke of simple things and made no mention of what was really on their minds. For the moment they could simply enjoy one another's company.

"A lot," the sailor continued. "It feels almost as if I'm seeing Kasper again after a voyage. The last time we spoke you were a girl, not a woman."

Strider shrugged, "I'm sure Kasper has changed just as much."

Grady had to grin at that, "You know he's a Captain now."

"Is he really?" Strider raised an eyebrow. Her cousin Kasper hated sailing with a passion. She could hardly believe he'd set foot on a ship for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. Strider didn't know much about sailing, but she assumed being a Captain of a vessel required being on the ship quite a deal.

"It's ironic, really. Always said he'd never follow in my footsteps, and yet he holds the same title. He's the Captain of your father's guard." Grady's face was flushed with pride in his son. The sailor had never been around much when Kasper was young but he still loved him a great deal. "It's a bit disheartening in a way. I don't think Kasper ever really needed me around at all," he admitted.

"I wouldn't say that," Strider told him. "He was always happy when you came to visit, and especially gloomy when you left again."

A smile curved Grady's lips as he thought of his son, "Kaz is a good man," he said fondly, "even if I never taught him anything. I'm proud of him, and you."

One eyebrow arched in surprise at Grady's words. "You're proud of me? Did I do something I don't know about?"

Strider's uncle only chuckled, "You know they always said you'd come running home one day, crying to mommy and daddy that you were sorry." Grady's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "You never did. You never came home, and seeing you now, I'm not sure you ever intend to."

With a shrug Strider looked away. "It wasn't as if I never thought of it," she told him quietly. "Still, I'm sure they're glad they were wrong."

"You make it sound as if no one missed you," Grady said, and Strider smiled wanly in reply.

"I'd be surprised if they did. It wasn't as if I left behind many reasons to be missed."

Grady sighed, "You were a bit defiant, but that doesn't mean they never cared."

Strider snorted in derision, "No, they definitely did care, or they wouldn't have put up with me for so long."

It had been a long time since Strider had thought of her family, mostly her parents. They were long gone, left far behind in her past. All the guilt and regret that had plagued Strider when she'd runaway had stayed behind with them. All of it had been pushed to the farthest corner of Strider's mind for so long. Looking down at the glass of water in front of her Strider suddenly felt like a disobedient child again. She looked up at the sound of her uncle's voice.

"You certainly have grown up," the sailor affirmed. There wasn't a trace of doubt in his level tone.

The attempts of Strider's parents to mend the thinning bonds between their family had been rather futile. Still, they'd tried for the better to make their daughter see the sense in a marriage that could benefit the household. The financial state of the Crewe family had never been wonderful. When bad times threatened to drag the family into dept the solution had been a rather simple one. A profitable marriage to join two households would set things to rights. Of course, things had not been at all as easy as the family had hoped. Strider, the eldest and only daughter of the Crewe family old enough to be courted, had no intentions of being married off. Grady could understand where his niece was coming from when she'd refused her parent's wishes. It wasn't any easy thing for someone who'd lived rather lawlessly for years to suddenly embrace the idea of settling down with a stranger. Compromise was never considered, or at least not negotiated. Grady hadn't been a part of that sort of dealing among the family, but he knew his brother and niece well enough to see that they never would've gotten anywhere bargaining.

"And what about you? What've you been up to lately?"

The sailor scratched at his chin absently. "That's a good question. I've been doing much that I usually don't enjoy doing. I spent a lot of time up in the mountains, staying with your Da and trying to sort things out."

Strider fiddled with her cup, "What kind of things?"

"Quite a few. Many of the other lesser Lords have been swayed to Bryce's will. I don't see how they have much choice. They can either agree with him, or be terrorized by his men. Bran's one of the few who won't be bent by Bryce's hand."

"What's Da done?"

Grady shrugged, "Not much. There's little he can do. He doesn't have an army at his disposal. Whenever Bryce gets the chance he sends Cult men into the valley. Bran's hard pressed to keep them at a distance, and even then the Minke are still suffering at the Cult's hands."

A frown creased Strider's face. "I don't suppose the Minke are happy about that?"

With a snort of derision Grady shook his head. "No, they're not. Tora's father died a year or two after you left. Since then she's been struggling to hold the tribe together. The constant raids are not helping. More often than not it's the Minks who take the brunt of the attacks. Some are hauled off to who knows where, and others are… Dealt with."

Strider did not ask what Grady meant. She could use her imagination to fill in the blanks. The thought brought a frown to Strider's face.

"I can sympathize with the Minke. They don't look to your father as they once did, not since this all started. Bran can offer them little protection, and they seem to think it's by choice that no aid comes to them."

Shaking her head Strider toyed with her drink, smoothing her thumb over the edge of the cup. Her gaze flicked to Grady as she folded her lips into one thin line.

"You know very well how sympathy is viewed in the mountains," she told him, her voice deadpan. "Sympathy is looking at the cruel acts and turning a blind eye to it all."

_She truly has grown up, _Grady thought to himself for not the first time that night. More and more he was beginning to see the changed side of his niece. There was something about her decidedly different. Still, the defiance remained. He could see it in her eyes, just a flash of fire that gave a look into her heart.

"Still the rampant little hellion, aren't you?" He asked, not unkindly.

Strider did not smile as she lifted her drink. Her eyes danced with a grim light as she spoke. "You truly have no idea."

Grady felt a stir of uncertainty in his heart. "So you'll do it then?"

"Do what?"

"What you said earlier tonight. You said you'd go back. Do you mean it? Will you go home?"

For a moment Strider had to seriously consider her uncle's words. His terse tone demanded it. Home, the place that Strider had turned her back on, the family she had defied in order to do as she wished. Suddenly Strider was unsure. She thought of her parents and the people she had known and called friends. Would they want her back? Strider bit her tongue at the urge to voice the query. There was no use in asking the pointless question. Grady would never tell her that they didn't want her home. Strider did not need his assurance, nor his sympathy.

Slowly, Strider started to shake her head. "No, I don't think I would." Strider looked her uncle squarely in the face as she spoke. "I'm not all too sure that I could swallow my pride and go slinking home."

Grady sighed, but didn't object to his niece's words. Perhaps he had expected too much of her.

* * *

Gilan tapped his heels against Blaze's sides. With a little whiff the horse turned and trotted back down the incline, leaving the moonlit trail for a patch of shadow under a grove of cypress trees.

"Well?" Marek prompted from where he leaned against his own mount. The man's eyes shone from the depths of his cowl. The chilly night and air of business that followed the little envoy seemed lost on Marek. Not even the damp air that clung to them seemed to bring him down.

"The way's clear, but we'll have to go slower with the horses. The ground ahead gets marshy after rain."

Marek nodded to the Ranger's words, "We'll still make it to Meric before morning, won't we?"

"We should," Gilan agreed. "Hopefully the fog will lift before then."

Gilan could tell Marek was smiling by the way he shifted he stance to swing into the saddle. "Says the Ranger, the man of law."

The Ranger raised an eyebrow at his friend, "And what does the Shadow, the man of thievery and roguish ways have to say?"

Marek's mount shifted under the man's weight as he took up the reins. Behind the Shadow there was an unmistakable rustle of tack as others did the same.

"Well Gilly, my boy, my law loving young friend, I'm sure you've heard it told that I'm from Meric. I'm also quite sure that you don't know that's not true. I was not born in Meric, but I did live there for a short time."

The mischievous tone that Marek had adapted interested Gilan. This was sure to be one of Marek's famous stories. The Shadow was quite the bard when it came down to it. Still, there was always a grain of truth in every outrageous tale. Besides, even if there wasn't Gilan wouldn't mind the conversation. The Ranger had already scouted the pathway ahead of them, and even if his senses had failed him Blaze would be alert.

Gilan nudged Blaze back around and nodded at Marek to do the same. The Shadow needed no further prompting to join his friend and continue his tale.

"I would probably still live there now, had it not been for the accident. Ah, a trifle that was. I don't suppose you've heard it mentioned among the men of Meric. They tell it rather offensively, the tale of the sly and slippery thief."

"Wait, I've heard this story," Gilan said, interjecting. Marek only grinned broadly, white teeth flashing from within his cowl.

"Ah, so you have. You've heard the degrading little fable of one thief's failure." Marek's storytelling tone as accompanied by many gracious gestures of his hands. He leaned over in his saddle in a conspiring way, "You've heard that tale of the guards, but what of the thief?"

Gilan suppressed a smile. "And what of him?" The Ranger let his gaze slip out over the surrounding land, surveying the calm night with a critical eye.

"What of him!" Marek's voice rose to a dangerously loud whisper. "He was framed!"

Feigned astonishment shone in Gilan's eyes. "How dare they sow his innocent name with discord," he drawled sarcastically.

"Yes, how dare they," Marek went on gravely. The man had resettled himself more firmly into his saddle. "They say he was a fiend, one only bent on getting what he pleased and giving nothing back."

Like fuel to a fire Gilan urged Marek on, dropping dry twigs onto eager flames. "And what was he?"

"Innocent, of course. He was no more or less than you or I, and yet they branded him with such cruel acts and heinous crimes." The menacing edge to Marek's voice suddenly dropped away, replaced by a gracious lilt. The man went on doggedly, his theatrics rising in audacity.

"Innocent of crime, guilty of true love. Yes, that is the plight for which the poor man has been so brutally shunned for."

A few paces behind the two men someone laughed, bringing a scowl from Marek. Ranger and Shadow both turned in their saddles to eye the culprit. Jag and Claw, Shadows and good friends, rode behind them. Claw was still chuckling as Jag grinned, his voice rolling easy with a mocking drawl.

"True love? You practically assaulted her just to get her attention."

Marek scoffed, "I did not! She wanted me, everyone knew it!"

"Everyone except her," retorted Claw. Jag was doing a poor job of suppressing a bout of laughter beside his comrade.

"It seems only the Ranger and I can remain civil," Marek said gravely. He inclined his head towards Gilan. The Ranger burst out into laughter.

"So misunderstood," Marek muttered half to himself as he spurred his horse forward. He trotted ahead, chin lifted to a proud point. What was left of his dignity he'd keep intact.

Gilan shook his head, still smiling after Marek. "I almost don't believe it," he admitted. "Who would've thought that Marek of all thieves was the thief of Meric?"

"It's kind of obvious really," Jag murmured, eyes dancing with merriment. "So obvious that hardly anyone puts it together. Marek's named for that particular shenanigan of his in Meric."

The shenanigan that Jag referred to was a well known tale in Meric. The very same tale that Marek had been telling. An odd little connection, Gilan thought, and a confusing one. The thief of Meric was a true incident, and a rather comical one at that. At least now it was in Gilan's eyes.

As the story went, a thief had come to Meric, claiming the hearts of many young women as they swept through the fief, carrying off items of value. Some say that any woman the thief had interest in fell into his arms without so much as a word of protest. Any woman except one, that is. The lovely daughter of a rather profitable merchant could not be swayed by his arrogant charm. He was not to be dissuaded by her disregard for him, and the thief went to great lengths to impress her, often stealing dazzling jewels and leaving them on her windowsill. The merchant's daughter made it clear she wasn't interested, and when the thief persisted he came to her window one night only to find the city guard waiting for him.

"She was beautiful," Claw said dreamily, "I wonder if she's still in Meric."

Jag elbowed Claw, "You'd better tread lightly, friend. Just because Marek here never got close to her heart doesn't mean she didn't steal Fell's."

Gilan's eyebrows rose at that, "Fell knew her too?"

Hearing the discussion behind him, Marek dropped back. "He did indeed."

"Fell did what Marek couldn't, he captivated the dear woman," Claw's tone was one of resentful explanation.

Scoffing, Marek turned in the saddle to eye Claw, "I'll have you know I introduced the two of them."

Jag broke out into laughter once more, "If I do recall it correctly, he went to fetch you're sorry self from her window, and she asked _him_ to stay."

The glare that Marek had fixed Claw with switched to Jag. "Sorry as I might've been, some good did come out of that night. In some people's eyes' anyway. I didn't end up chained somewhere dark and damp, and Fell found someone worth his time."

With a snort of derision a wave of his hand Jag dismissed Marek's words. He looked to Gilan as he elaborated, "Fell was serious about her, or at least as far as we could tell. He's not exactly compelled to share the details of his private life, but for a time us Shadows knew about his little affair."

"Affair?" Marek rolled his eyes, "you make it sound as if it was some horrendous scandal. Both of them knew what they were doing when they were together."

Claw shrugged, "Well, doesn't really matter now, does it?" The Shadow lifted his chin a bit proudly, "You see, things ended," he told Gilan. The Ranger couldn't help but think they spoke like gossiping old ladies, and yet he had no desire to end the conversation just yet.

"Every now and then Fell would get away to go and see her, maybe for just a day or so. He left once, to take a message to another group of Shadows. He came back early." Claw sounded almost triumphant. "Hasn't spoken a word of her since."

"To you anyways," Marek told him. "Everyone knows who it is Fell goes to when he's down on his luck."

"You mean Strider?" Jag's smirk was bitter.

Chagrined, Marek frowned before he found words. "Well, her too, but not for matters of love and women."

Gilan mulled things over in his mind, considering the three men's words. "Women know women best," he pointed out.

Jag shook his head, "Women. They're better off at home raising the children."

"Ouch!" Marek exclaimed, turning to look at his friend. "Getting snappy aren't we?"

"You know how Jag is," Claw said as he clapped the Ranger on the shoulder. "He's always believed a woman's place is in the kitchen, still does, he just doesn't like to admit that a dough battering maid showed him up."

To Gilan's surprise, Marek laughed. "Dough battering maid? Ha! I don't think Strider has ever worn a maid's smock or done a women's chores."

Gilan found he couldn't find fault with Marek's words. To picture Strider in a women's proper clothes was as odd as a fish out of water. "How'd she show you up?" The Ranger asked Jag, curious.

"That too, is rather obvious," Jag murmured. His tone took on less of a bite to it as he went on. "Being Deputy means you're the leader's right hand. It's not just that the leader's got to trust you, it's that you have to be sharper than the rest of us. Fell picked Strider over the rest of us. I've always respected Fell, but she is not who I would've chosen."

"Strider does a good job," Marek told them firmly, eyes panning over the other men. The Shadow didn't like the way Jag spoke of Fell and Strider, and the look on Claw's face was just as disturbing. "Being Deputy doesn't means she's any better than you. Just shows she's who Fell trusts best to do right by him."

Silence followed Marek's words. In a way Gilan felt that Marek was right. He didn't doubt that Claw or Jag or even Marek was incapable of taking the place of Fell's Deputy, but there was definitely something else that set Strider apart from the rest.

Perhaps, Gilan ventured to himself, it was her tendency to disagree with Fell. On more than one occasion Gilan had been privy to a battle of wills between the two of them, and he'd come to see that their compromises often led to nifty solutions. Gilan didn't think it was a lack of respect in Strider's regard for her leader, but maybe more of an excess of it. The Ranger found he could believe that Strider's blunt way of pointing out flaws in Fell's plans was to help him keep up a good reputation. Regardless of reason, they quarreled much like an old married couple.

Gilan looked ahead through the thinning trees to the last stretch of road before Meric castle, letting his thoughts slip away. Another bend in the road and they would be able to see the stocky spires that belonged to the grey washed fortress. Idly Gilan found himself wondering if there was anything more comforting than the sight of one's home on the horizon.

* * *

**I'm also thankful for the favorites, comments, alerts and what not. =) I don't notice the favs and alerts as much as I do reviews, but I love them and the people who give them all the same. =)**

**To go over this chapter...**

**It's really repetitive, I think. Everyone seems to be coming back to the idea that something is up in the Shadows...**

**Oh, and what do you all think of Heather dearest? Her and Fell = Good, or Bad?**


	6. The Lady's Man

**Chapter 6! =)**

* * *

It was another night spent at Crowley's but Rowan didn't mind, not even in the least. Especially not when Cedric, his older brother, came to join them for dinner.

"Runt," the knight teased as he caught Rowan up in a headlock. Rowan twisted free, dodging nimbly to one side. He had the satisfaction of catching Cedric by surprise.

"By the Gods, I think Halt here is making you a match for me," Cedric told his younger brother. Grinning very much like a young boy himself, the Battlemaster of Meric fief offered greetings to the Ranger's, and the grin on his face never wavered.

Cedric was a hulk of a man, broader and taller than both Halt and Crowley. He wasn't unlike Horace, with all the markings of a good knight. Even though he was a bit young to be a Battlemaster he'd proved he was worthy of the title. More than once in recent skirmishes against the Cult of Day, Cedric had led both knights and men-at-arms into battle. He was smart, and had no qualms about doing a gritty share of the work.

"Good to see you, Ranger's," Cedric greeted them. "How've you been?"

Crowley looked up from the bowls he'd been filling and smiled. "Good, you?"

"I've been better to be honest with you," Cedric admitted, but Halt suspected from the ever present smile on Cedric's face that he hadn't been too much better.

"It's all the preparations, isn't it?"

Cedric settled into a chair with a nod. "I think that's what it is for everyone. We haven't even seen the front line yet and we're already in chaos."

A grimace touched Halt's face. "Welcome to warfare."

Pouring mugs full of steaming coffee, Crowley shrugged one shoulder. "I'm not sure that the Cult's scattered sieges aren't their front line."

At this, Cedric couldn't disagree. From what they knew of the Cult—and that was very little—the band of rogue knights had never staged a true war. They were said to have control of most of Gallica, where more than one lone knight roved. Claiming the loyalty of the freelancers hadn't been very hard, or so it seemed. Crowley had to wonder who was the true mastermind behind it all. Who had come up with the cunning idea to seize control of Gallica's renegades had to be someone worth keeping track of. It might have been easier to do so if they'd known who it had been. There was little they could do to narrow it down. It could have been Baron Bryce himself, or maybe even Lord Crewe's son Derek. Aside from them, it could have been anyone else with an ambition for power and the want of a matching crown.

"If it is, we have a fairly good chance of sending them on their way," Cedric remarked. The Battlemaster, like most others, based his observations of battle on the fundamental logic taught in Battlechool. At this point in the game Cedric could probably make a decent estimate as to the size of the Cult's army, and being in combat with them would have showed him first hand how they fought. Setting it up in his head, he could see the Araluen outnumbered the Cult, and none of the Cult's sieges prevailed for long. Take a fort they might, but it was only a short time before it was Araluen's again.

Like Cedric, Halt could see the advantages Araluen had over the Cult, but they weren't necessarily accurate. It was only from what the Cult had shown of themselves so far that they could judge the playing field. Halt, who had his own rules of logic to live and think by, was expecting a surprise from the Cult. Always expect the unexpected, and when the Cult had only shown a little in the ways of force Halt felt compelled to believe they were hiding something up their sleeves. He could only wonder at what it might be, and so wonder the Ranger did.

"I don't believe they've truly shown us their hand just yet," Halt said quietly.

"From what Marek says, they're just playing games with us now," the Battlemaster said. It didn't sound as though he agreed with the Shadow.

Rowan sounded almost surprised when he turned to his brother. "You know Marek?"

His brother nodded, "Not a bad man," he added.

"Good Shadow too, from the regard that Kerjack holds him in." Crowley passed two mugs to Halt, who gave one to each of the brothers before taking two more from Crowley.

"He mentioned that the Cult wasn't as bad when they first started out. Said they were brutal, but there wasn't that many of them when they first made themselves known."

Cedric sipped at his coffee, enjoying the flavor of the drink. He wasn't much of a fan of coffee, but no one made it like Rangers did. Cedric would jump through hoops to know the secret to how Ranger's brewed coffee. Taking another shallow draft of the drink, he wondered what Halt and Crowley knew of the Shadows, and waited quietly for a reply from either of them.

As always, Halt's reply shed little light on what was on his mind. "From what I've heard, that's not exactly something the Shadows enjoy talking about."

Leaning back in his chair Cedric gave a small tilt of his head, the equivalent of a shrug for the burly knight. "I'm sure you know more about that than I do."

Crowley gave Cedric a look that proclaimed his innocence. "Why would you say that?"

"I'm not that dumb," Cedric told the Commandant. "I've seen Gilan do his job more than once. You guys are everywhere at once, and if anyone is keeping tabs on the Shadows, it's you."

"And what is it you think we know that you don't?" Halt asked.

Cedric considered it for a moment, "Mostly everything. Marek seems like he'd spill all kinds of secrets if he had a little drink in him, but he's more careful than most. He takes his work seriously despite all the foolery. I haven't learned much from him, and anyone else seems just as tight lipped."

"Sounds like you've been prying," Halt observed, raising an eyebrow at Cedric. "Why?"

"Call me nosy," the Battlemaster invited the Ranger, "but I can't shake the feeling that there's something more we should know about our allies."

Crowley set a dish before Rowan and one before Cedric, and Halt carried two more to the table for himself and his Commandant. Crowley sat across from Cedric, with Halt to his left and Rowan to his right. The Commandant was starved, to put it mildly. Crowley hadn't eaten since midday, and he had an unusually voracious appetite for someone his size. He was already considering seconds before he'd even started his first serving.

Resisting the urge to tear into his dinner, Crowley instead fiddled with his spoon, mulling something over in his head.

"The Shadows have become infamous rather quickly."

Halt grunted his agreement. "Infamous, and near impossible to pin."

"So you've tried?" Cedric sounded dismayed. If the Ranger's couldn't hawk the Shadows, then no one could.

"Somewhat," the Commandant admitted. He liked Cedric, but Ranger's business was between the King and the Ranger's. "The messenger that came here is from the mountains, and he's Strider's uncle."

The Battlemaster had been about to take a sip of his soup. He paused, his mouth firming into a thin line. "Uncle? Isn't he a sailor?"

Halt used a corner of bread to scoop up a little of the hot stew. "Odd, isn't it? It's simply ridiculous to believe that Strider could ever be related to someone with a sailor's bawdy tongue."

That wasn't what Cedric found odd at all, and by the sardonic edge to Halt's voice it wasn't what the Ranger thought either. He'd heard Strider curse, and whether she'd learned it from her uncle or not it was enough to bring a blush to any bad mouthed bandits face.

Before Cedric could make a comment about the colorful tunes he'd heard from the Shadow's Deputy, the Ranger tipped his head to forestall him.

"Don't get excited yet. It get's better."

Cedric was incredulous, "How?"

Crowley had given up the struggle to be polite, and he was a third of the way through his bowl of stew when he flashed a smile at Cedric.

"She's a noble."

It was amusing for Rowan to watch his brother's eyebrows rise even higher than they had before. Rowan thought if they moved any closer to his hairline Cedric's eyes would fall out of his head.

"_Noble?" _Cedric's voice rose an octave. "Of what kingdom?"

"I told you it got better," Halt informed the Battlemaster.

"Better? This is absurd. I don't believe it."

Crowley rose to collect a second helping of supper, "You'd believe it if you saw Lady Ilane."

Frowning, Cedric shuffled through his memories of all the noblewomen he'd met, but couldn't put a face to the name Ilane. Finally he shook his head. If he'd met Ilane he didn't remember her, and he certainly couldn't think of any noble who resembled Strider.

"I don't think I know her."

"No surprise there," Crowley observed, "Lord Crewe and Lady Ilane are not very well known or distinguished."

Giving his friend a curious look, Halt downed a mouthful of stew. "Looks like someone did their homework."

"Have been doing it for a while now. I didn't pick up a lot, and most of it is just gossip or what I've picked up from a few inquiring remarks." Tapping his spoon against the side of his dish, Crowley counted off his discoveries slowly.

"Lord Crewe's quite a grim character, from what I hear."

"Grim like Halt?" Rowan interjected, and cautiously his gaze slid to his mentor's face. Halt had cocked an eyebrow at him. "In that good grim way?" He added quickly, thinking of all the unpleasant chores Halt could conjure.

With a prideful twitch of his lips Cedric cast an admiring glance at his younger brother. "Still stumbling all over the toes' of others."

"Not grim in that good way like Halt," Crowley told them, drawing the others' attention back to him. "Maybe simple better describes him. Crewe is not a wealthy man, nor is he described as being ostentatious or overbearing. They don't call him Lord Brandon either, which strikes me as odd for some reason. They call him by his last name, Crewe. I didn't learn much more about him, no one seems to care much about his secluded little keep in the mountains, but his wife is something else."

"You speak from experience," the Battlemaster guessed. It was more of a statement than a question.

The Commandant shook his head, "Not exactly. I haven't seen her in years, and I doubt that she remembers me at all, but I used to be the Ranger of Rockfall fief. I used to know most of the nobles, young and old, but I imagine a lot has changed since I last visited.

"Ilane, who was formerly of Widow's Peak, wasn't wealthy when she wed Crewe, but she was pretty. Gorgeous even, and the marriage made Crewe's little barony a bit more prosperous."

"How much more?" Halt asked. The Ranger was beginning to wonder how much Crowley knew of the fief of Rockfall. It had been years since Crowley had been assigned to another fief, and even longer still since he had been assigned to Rockfall in particular. It was in a Ranger's instincts to pay attention to detail, but that didn't always mean their memory defied the haze of passing years.

Crowley shook his head, "I've never really been sure. Widow's Peak is no more impressive than the valley that Crewe has, but I wouldn't say they married completely for love."

"Is that jealously I hear in your voice?" Cedric's brows fell easily into a mocking gesture.

Rowan had a hard time deciding if Crowley's answer was too quick due to the Ranger's wit or because he had in fact harbored a schoolboy crush on Lady Ilane.

"It certainly isn't."

Halt grunted, a sound of derision he directed to his Commandant. "Of course not," he assured his friend. The tone he used suggested complete and utter concern. That sort of tenderness simply did not come from Halt.

When Halt's voice reverted to its customary monotone Rowan felt the slightest hint of relief. He already had a hard enough time staying on Halt's good side. Gods forbid the Ranger start changing his personality now. Rowan would be without a paddle to traverse his apprenticeship with Halt as the forever shifting current. Considering the fact that the boat was often rocking as it was, Rowan didn't need any more complications in his life than he already had.

"Because Crewe definitely wasn't more suited for her than you were," Halt proclaimed before sipping from his mug.

Something like blush crept up Crowley's neck. "So perhaps I just don't understand how someone like her, lovely and cheerful, can end up with that prig of a man."

Unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin, Cedric resorted to using his coffee cup as a diversion. He feigned a long draft, keeping the drink up as an obstruction between his twitching smile and Crowley. Typically laughing at Ranger's was not beneficial to one's health.

"He can't be that bad."

The Battlemaster managed to get the words out with only a little of the smirk he wore spilling over into his voice.

Of course, being the Ranger Commandant did not come without a good deal of expertise and experience in observation, among other things. Crowley knew very well how Cedric struggled to keep from bursting out into boisterous laughter. Even more sharply he noticed the mocking silence in which Halt waited for his superior's reply.

Adapting a thoughtful look, Crowley leaned back in his chair, careful to pin Halt with a gaze marked by daggers. While he glared at Halt it was Cedric that Crowley spoke to.

"I assure you, Lord Crewe is not grim, he's only almost as sarcastic and taciturn as Halt here."

Cedric's poorly held composure was fracturing like a window's glass pane under a barrage of stones. Rapidly the Battlemaster was turning from one luminous shade of red to the next, his coloring similar to the spreading spider webs of failing glass.

Ignoring the look his Commandant was shooting him, Halt drained the last of his coffee and rose from his chair, gathering his dishes after him. With his grizzled head held rather high Halt tossed the words over his shoulder as he strode away.

"Sounds like this Lady Ilane has good taste in men."

* * *

The moon was well over the horizon when Fell began his night's work. Fell's room was much like Strider's, with plain furnishings crafted of the same wood. He tossed a hefty handful of letters onto a wide round table and unbuckled his belt. Although Fell wasn't the most organized of men, he was a bit obsessive when it came to keeping things clean. Maybe his clothes weren't always folded and put away and his desk wasn't always cleared, but Fell himself was forever giving off a fresh scent.

Laying his belt and the knives clipped to it on his bed, Fell shed his tunic and shirt. He left his clothes in a pile on the unmade bed and headed straight for a clean basin of water that rested on a long table he'd pushed against one wall. He dunked his head into the cool water and leaned over the small tub.

Using a bit of soap he unwrapped from a towel Fell vigorously scrubbed his short locks until his hands and scalp hurt with the effort. He spent no less time removing the dirt from the rest of him, and by the time he was done Fell was exhausted. With his shoulders and neck aching from leaning over the basin, he wearily pulled on fresh clothes. He swept the dirty one's from his bed and into a heap on the floor.

Fell was more considerate with his belt, maybe because it was more worn than most of his tunics and had spent enough time on the job to deserve a bit more respect. Fell couldn't quite count the number of times his belt had kept his trousers around his waist instead of his ankles. Not only would that have been bad for the battle itself, but he could hardly stand to think of what it would do to his dignity. The leader of the Shadows placed the leather veteran beside the basin, unclipping the sheaths and their contents and leaving them where he would remember to oil them before he slept.

With that done, he turned reluctantly to the many letters, notes and requests that awaited his attention. Who would've ever thought that an alliance required so much paperwork?

Fell fought in skirmishes in which the enemy's numbers grossly outnumbered his own, when every second was worth a man's life. He didn't usually ride home unscathed, and sometimes he couldn't ride home at all. Still, Fell would've preferred a lopsided fight over paperwork. At least when he had a knife in his hand he knew what to do with it. He could sit before a blank sheet of paper for hours, never knowing what to write or how to convey his thoughts without being rude or barbaric. Fell was a smooth negotiator, but bargaining through letters was something else. He couldn't read someone's expression through words on paper, and conveying his own was even more difficult.

Regardless of what he thought of the work that awaited him, Fell took his place at the table and picked up the first folded parchment on the pile. He broke the seal on it, let out a gusty sigh, and prepared himself for a battle like no other.

* * *

Although Grady and Strider hadn't hugged when they'd seen each other for the first time in years, they embraced when they said their good byes.

"You're not going to vanish on me again, are you?" Grady asked as he drew his niece close with one arm.

"You were never the one I left," Strider assured him. Her uncle was only a bit taller than her, and she had to duck her head to avoid hitting him in the chin.

Grady huffed, and Strider knew he was scoffing over her head. "Well you never visited."

"My sincerest apologies, uncle dearest."

Another huff, and this time Strider got to see Grady's matching expression when he broke their short lived embrace.

"I don't care how you get word to me," he told her, "just so long as you do."

"You make it sound as if I'm leaving again."

Strider's uncle shrugged. "Maybe it isn't you who's making a break for it this time."

"You'll run from the King?"

"You know I'm not really sure," Grady said. "I'm doing pretty fine as it is, but that can change in a moment's notice. I don't think our monarch approves of pirates."

They were standing by the sturdy lean-to by Grady's inn. Although he had been offered a place to stay in the castle, he preferred the city. It was an easier place to run from, Strider supposed.

"You can stay with us. Fell won't mind, and if the King's goodwill wears off we can help have you gone before he knows where you were staying at all."

"Wicked niece," Grady said fondly, "I've missed you, but that doesn't mean I'd move in. And come to think of it, maybe you should move out. I don't much like that Fell character. He likes you too much."

"He does not." Strider's retort was a bit halfhearted. "We've just been doing this for a while."

The way Grady's near-coal black eyes widened suggested that for once he was appalled. "Gods, you like him don't you?"

"No—yes. No more than he likes me, anyway."

Strider leaned on a support post, turning her head to look at the sleeping horses and hide the blush that was painting it's way up her neck. She could hear the scuff of Grady's boots in the dirt as he rocked back on his heels. When Strider turned her gaze back to her uncle he was actually smiling, an inquisitive show of his interest.

"And how much does he like you?"

To this Strider only raised a thin shoulder and let it fall again. The careless motion was a bit too swift to be genuine. She hoped her expression didn't show that she'd thought over that same question a time or two before. The answer she gave was truthful, but maybe not the one that Strider wanted to hear.

"I don't know, but I like to think we're good friends."

Though Grady didn't prod any further, he didn't seem satisfied with Strider's reply.

"I suppose that's for the better then."

Strider couldn't tell what Grady meant was the good part, that Fell and she were no more than friends, or that they were friends at all.

"I have something for you," Grady said, and pulled a folded sheet of parchment from his shirt.

His niece eyed the missive skeptically. "What is it?"

"A letter."

"From you?"

"Someone in the South."

Now Strider's cynical gaze settled on Grady himself. There were a lot of people in the South, some that Strider would die to hear from and others that probably wished her dead. She couldn't decide which one she dreaded more.

"There weren't any other letters with you when you came here. I checked."

"Recall some respect, I'm not so old that I don't know how to hide a letter anymore." Grady's tone had shifted from fond to something serious. In turn Strider no longer seemed glad of her uncle's presence.

"Who's it from?"

"You'll know when you read it."

Strider shook her head when Grady offered her the parchment. "No, I don't want it. I'm done with the South. I severed all the ties once, isn't that enough?"

"How can you turn your back on it all?"

"The same way you did when you decided to become a pirate," Strider retorted. Grady's words had held a sting that had drawn forth a few barbs of Strider's own. "I up and left. Ran away and let everyone pick up the pieces."

Looking offended, Grady pushed the letter into Strider's hands. His eyes had gone stony in the silence that followed Strider's words. It wasn't anger in his voice, but something cold and remotely vacant.

"Runaway that I might be, I went back to them when they needed me most. I'm not asking you to read this, I'm only hoping that you'll remember what your family once meant to you."

Grady left his niece leaning against a wooden post, a note resting in her hands and bitter words burning in her mind.

* * *

Fell was propping his chin up on one elbow, looking down in distaste at the words he'd printed on the ink blotched parchment before him when someone knocked softly.

"I'm here," he called. Strider slipped quietly into the room, carrying a steaming bowl of something that smelled delicious.

In some ways Fell had an almost odd look to him as he sat at his makeshift desk, as though without boots and belt he wasn't as broad but taller instead. Strider always got the impression that it had never bothered him, since he didn't go swaggering around in full attire. Well, at least not when he didn't have business to attend to.

"Kerjack said you hadn't eaten yet," Strider informed her leader as she handed the dish to him.

Much to Fell's delight, the special that night happened to be a hot mix of chicken and a light broth.

"You're not eating?"

Strider sat down in the remaining chair across from Fell and shook her head. "Sorry I'm late. I ate with my uncle Grady and we did a bit of catching up."

Fell pushed all the papers and ink to one side, making room to enjoy his meal. It would be a short lived break, and he intended to use every minute of it wisely.

"How'd that go?"

"I wish I could say it went fantastic, but I'm not so sure." Strider sighed. "Do you ever get the feeling that maybe you made one too many mistakes?"

For a moment Fell chewed that thought over with a bit of well diced chicken. "Are you asking if I regret certain decisions?"

Fell's Deputy nodded, "Important ones."

Another deliberation passed and another bite of dinner was downed before Fell replied. "It's not regret so much as the 'what if' that gets me. I can't change anything, but that doesn't stop me from wondering."

It was Strider's turn to mull things over in her head. "Ever wonder what we'd be doing now if we'd never left the south?"

"Yes, but I don't think on that too much. I like where we are now, on steadier feet and safer ground than we would've been had we stayed."

"How can you be so sure?" Strider asked.

"It's easy. There's a man in the south with a dead son, who probably suspects who put his boy six feet under. From what I know, if we were there he'd be looking for the one responsible. Maybe me."

"Probably not you."

"Both of us, and I'll have it told no other way." Although Fell's tone was unusually strict, the look he gave his Deputy was bereft of any harshness.

While Fell finished off the rest of his soup, Strider thought of all the logical reasons for Fell to take the blame for a murder he didn't commit. When she came up with nothing more than a few shaky theories, she waited for her leader to hold her gaze.

It didn't take long before Fell caught Strider looking at him. It might've been the way she'd fallen so silent, the gentle sigh of her breathing fading off until Fell had to look to be sure Strider was still sitting across from him.

A shiver-like chill tingled across Fell's skin when he met his Deputy's gaze. Her hazel eyes were a peculiar mix that deviated between a deep shade of tawny to a lighter sorrel. The change had more to do with the lighting than mood, and had never struck Fell as something noteworthy. The short streaks of jade that radiated out from the pupils of Strider's eyes, on the other hand, were something else. Fell couldn't remember having noticed them before, but he found that he very much liked them.

Though warmth was creeping up Strider's neck she didn't look away from her leader. His gaze was no less entrancing than her own, the words she'd been about to say slipped her mind.

One of Strider's hands rested on the tabletop, not far from Fell's. For some reason he couldn't explain Fell reached for Strider's hand. His fingertips brushed hers, and she wrapped her nimble fingers in his.

Stupidly Fell found himself saying hello, as if he was seeing his Deputy for the first time.

"Hey."

"Hello."

Silly as it was, it felt right, and not just to him either. He could see it in her eyes, in the dashes of color he hadn't noticed before. It was as if something had clicked neatly into place. The letters that covered the table were no longer of importance.

The moment, as calm and serene as it first seemed, was fleeting. Their eyes left each other sharply when Fell pulled his hand away.

"Sorry," he apologized, and deigned not to look at his Deputy. He remembered once when they'd stood on the verandah in the rain, about to trade harsh words. What had first begun as a brash argument had ended up with a kiss, short but sweet. It had felt right then too, only this time there was a table and something like hurt feelings standing between them.

At least, there were feelings in Fell's way. It nagged at him that his Deputy had never told him she wasn't common. He'd thought there were no secrets, that maybe he knew his Deputy as well as he felt she knew him. As it turned out, Fell didn't know the most basic of things about the woman sitting across from him.

"What's to apologize for?" Something like disapointment tainted Strider's quiet voice.

"I don't think it's proper for me to take a noble's hand."

Though silence had settled around them more than once it had a way of taking forms. It didn't drape them like an airy fabric as it had before, but pressed against them like the thick air on a humid day.

What had been left of the smile on Strider's face died swiftly, not unlike the way a candle's flame vanished with nothing more than a puff of smoke.

A sick sensation rang like a bell inside Strider, echoing through her limbs like a bad melody stuck in one's head.

"I'm not noble."

Though Strider couldn't say Fell's gaze was guarded, it had definitely lost some of it's warmth.

"I didn't think you were."

"You never asked."

"I didn't know we were playing the question game."

"It wasn't important."

"Still isn't?"

The back and forth wasn't a harsh trade of words, but a level exchange. Fell was always slow to anger, and sounded more let down than offended. Part of Strider wished he was yelling. The short and calm phrases were a lot like needles pricking at her skin. You could only pluck them out so fast, and even then some were poison tipped.

"Nothing changed," Strider pointed out.

"No, you were noble along."

"And now you know."

"Only how little I thought I knew."

A village fire must have broken out considering the number of times the bell of dread tolled in Strider's mind.

"Don't be silly. You still know me, just not my full name."

"Is it even Jane?"

_Ouch. _

Bit by bit Strider felt herself being pulled down, led deeper into a guarded place. Her mouth lost it's easy edge, thinned away until it was one flat line.

"I only lied to you about my name once."

It wasn't a lie, but a fair statement. Once, with night hanging close overhead and dawn not far off, Fell and Strider had found themselves downwind of Baron Bryce's estate. Somewhere behind them, in the muggy fog that hugged the land, guards searched for them.

Sense had been spilling from Strider with the blood that slipped through her fingers. One hand was pressed against her side while Fell had the other in a tight grasp. His arm had wrapped awkwardly around her waist, a vain attempt to keep her upright and moving through the tangle of roots that threatened to trip them underfoot.

"We're almost there. You're going to be fine."

Though Fell had spoken them with something like confidence he hadn't believed his own words. Neither had Strider, but it hadn't been as though she was believing in anything just then.

She'd focused all her effort on keeping her feet away from the gnarled roots and sharp dips in the terrain. Strider had thought she was doing well, having missed several catastrophic looking twists of growth. It came as a surprise when a stab of pain knocked her to her knees.

Only Fell's arm around her kept Strider from curling over on her side in the dirt. Maybe just to rest for a moment, maybe to lie there until her last breath slipped from her. Either way, Fell hadn't let her.

"Let me see," he had asked before reaching to pull her hand away.

When Strider shook her head and attempted to put distance between them she toppled over instead. This time Fell gave in, and let his soon to be Deputy stay where she'd fallen.

"I'm… Fine. I just need… A moment…"

For several long moments, Strider lay still, her breath growing still and shallow.

"Come on."

She hadn't moved when Fell nudged her.

"Strider?"

Didn't twitch when he said her name.

They'd made it down a shallow slope into what Fell guessed was some sort of a gully. He couldn't discern much in the dark, not with fog pooling along the forest floor in foreboding puddles.

"Stay here. Don't move. Don't die. You hear me James?"

The name had stirred a groan from Strider, at least, that's what Fell had supposed. Looking back he guessed it was lucky timing. Then and there, under the close wrapping of night, it hadn't much mattered. A groan had been a good enough reply for him.

Vaguely Strider could remember watching him rise and turn from her. She'd closed her eyes, thinking she'd seen the last she'd ever glimpse of Fell.

It wasn't, however, meant to be. Strider could never say how much time had passed between Fell's leaving and his return, she only knew he came back in the end.

"You're light," he'd remarked in a whisper when he scooped her up.

Her reply had been a sound of protest but nothing more.

Stepping swift, Fell moved through the dark, towards a fallen tree that lay across a sharp depression in the earth, alongside a boulder. He'd groped around under the tree, widening the existing gap into a hollow as best he could manage.

In the scarce light provided by the moonlight that came down through a thick thatch of tangling branches, Fell draped Strider across the ground.

"You're bleeding to death," he'd said. "I can't let you do that."

What little of Strider's strength had went into battering Fell away when he tugged at her tunic.

"No… I'm not bleeding…"

A determined friend he'd been, fighting to save his comrade James. A slight man, with boyish features and a good sense of wit. A dying man. Strider's attempts proved fruitless, Fell would see the wound on the left side of her ribs, a clean cut from a sword that bit.

It wasn't hard to figure. Even in the dark, squinting, Fell didn't need a candle to distinguish bandages, already wrapped tight about James's body. Slit by the blade, they'd fallen slack. Slack and useless. Like a startled cat, Fell had leapt back from his comrade.

"You're not… You're a…"

He hadn't been able to get it out. To say the words and hear the truth. Why hadn't he seen it before? How did it slip by him? He'd never seen James wash in the quick stops at the streams, at least not in front of the others. He was slight, with a narrow waist and not a single touch of stubble to his face. How could Fell have missed it all?

"Gods," Fell had run a hand through his hair. Strider peered at him, still James but not quite.

"Alright, I'm bleeding to death."

"James, you're a woman."

With clenched teeth, Strider had nodded. The ground was covered with a coat of dirt and a scattering of pebbles. They scraped at Strider's cheek. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

Somewhere in the distant came the thudding of hoofs against the earth, the call of voices in the night. With panic closing in like a tidal wave Fell had watched the woman, who was certainly not the beardless James he knew, shut her eyes as if to sleep.

It wasn't sleep that had closed around her, but darkness that swallowed her. Dimly Strider had heard men, horses, and the soft words of someone close by. They quieted her, shushed her gently to sleep.

When morning came and Strider woke she was tucked into the narrow space beneath the fallen tree, wrapped in someone else's cloak with the hood pulled up around her face.

"Fell?"

The name was a croak that sounded brittle. The man was a figure close by, with a steady gaze he refused to level with Strider. He leaned against the bark of the tree, not far from where Strider lay curled. When he spoke he didn't look at her.

"I think we're safe, but we should be moving soon."

"I'm alive."

"So am I."

"I don't believe it."

"Pinching helps."

"Are you angry?"

"About what?"

"I'm not a man."

"I noticed." Still Fell refused to turn his gaze away from the hillside ahead of him to look at Strider. His voice was empty, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not James."

"I didn't think you were."

"You still saved me."

"I wasn't going to let you die."

"I lied. To Kerjack. Our leader. You."

"Why?"

"Would you have let a woman fight?"

"That's not my decision." Fell winced and ducked his head. The passing of his predecessor still stung. He amended his words quietly. "No, I wouldn't have."

"What'll you do now?"

"We'll go home."

"We?"

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Where then are you sending me on my way?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"You'll let me stay?" Strider's tone mocked.

"My offer still stands. I need a Deputy."

When Strider didn't reply Fell sighed and looked towards her. His eyes wouldn't meet hers, but settled instead on the grey of his cloak, the shadow of his hood.

"I would never let a woman fight for me, but you're not like most women."

"You really intend to let me stay?" Disbelief had shown in Strider's eyes.

Fell turned back to the forest, seemingly intent on counting trees. "I know you're not James. I'd like to know the truth."

"What I told you was true. I ran away to follow my brother, and found out he's part of the Cult. It's easier pretending to be a man than present myself as I am." Throughout their conversation Strider had neglected to use James's voice, and settled instead on using her own. Higher pitched, it was the tone of a woman.

"Your name," Fell said. "Is it even James?"

"No. It's the only thing I lied about when I joined the Shadows. No one asked me if I was a woman, but they asked my name. I couldn't give them the truth. Not if I wanted to stay."

For a long moment the world was silent, only to be broken by Fell's soft words. He looked at Strider, truly looked. Not just at his cloak he'd wrapped her in, but her face. He met her eyes with his own, searched for the lie he didn't want to see.

"What's your name?"

"Jane."

"You look like a Jane. I never thought you were tall enough to be a James." Something similar to warmth shone briefly in Fell's gaze. It was gone as quick as it'd come. "Who else knows?"

"About me being a woman? No one. I think Kerjack suspects something. He's hinted once or twice, but never said anything accusing. I don't think he much minds."

"I can understand why you wouldn't want the men to know."

Strider considered Fell's words for a long moment. "Will you tell them?"

"It's not my secret."

"And if I choose to tell them?"

"All of them?"

"Everyone."

After his own moment of skepticism, Fell nodded to himself. "You'll be safe. From… Certain things. I won't permit anything on your part either. No meddling, trysts or anything of that sort. You said no one knows about this. I don't believe you're lying, or that you have a relationship with any of the men. You'll keep it that way. No exceptions."

"I understand."

When silence had threatened to close in once more, Fell spoke. "You swear it?"

"On my life."

"And on mine as well. No man will touch you should you tell."

"And I'll touch no man, whether I tell or not."

Though Fell had done his best to tend to the wound that stretched across Strider's side, he didn't have any salve to treat it with.

"We'll go to a healer first," he'd told her.

In truth, there was no need for one. The Shadows typically tended their own when they could, and though Strider had bled considerably, it was nothing that a little healing salve and rest couldn't fix. She saw it as the upholding of Fell's promise on his part, and Strider wasn't about to argue over it.

They'd risen from the woods and picked a path across the uneven earth, with Fell leading the way. He never strayed far from Strider's side, who moved slow and cautiously. More than once she'd stumbled, and Fell was there to keep her on her feet.

It was how they'd spend the many months to come, looking out for one another, catching each other when they lost their footing.

* * *

With the table between them and much left they wanted to say, Fell and Strider sat in silence. Fell had never asked for Strider's last name, or he might've known it was a title. He'd have told her his if it had come up, but it'd never been important.

"I never lied about my name or my past. I just never told you everything."

Rising, Strider headed for the door.

"There are things I shouldn't have to ask about," Fell told her.

She paused in the doorway and met his eyes evenly. The exchange of words had stirred something sad in Strider. It was bright in the streaks Fell had only just begun to admire.

"You're right. But we're not always proud of who we once were." Ducking her head, Strider broke her gaze from Fell's. Much like her downcast eyes, Strider's voice had fallen to something faint.

"Sometimes we're scared, of the people we know now and what they'll think of who we were."

* * *

**So that's it for Chapter 6, it was some dialogue, and a flash back I've been meaning to throw in there for a while now. =) **

**Read and review, and let me know what you think. =) **


	7. Remember Me?

**First update in AGES. I sincerely apologize for the long long long long long wait, and I assure you that it shall not happen again. I'm back, and writing more than ever. =)**

* * *

Rising early had never been an easy thing for Rowan, an unfortunate fact that Halt enjoyed bringing to light. While watching his apprentice struggle through practice the Ranger would often comment with one or two dry remarks.

"Less time with your pillow and more with your bow and you might hit the target," he would quip.

Worse than the comments had to be the reality that all Halt's barbs were founded on what Rowan liked to consider the incidents, the bane of his existence.

When someone gently prodded him in the side Rowan rolled over quickly, half expecting Halt to be standing over him, poised to add another chapter to the book of humiliation—the tome in which Rowan kept track of the many 'incidents.' In the short time that Rowan had been mentored by the grim Ranger he'd learned how important rising swift and early was. The Ranger had very inventive ways of waking his apprentice if he dared to sleep in. This was why he bolted upright, still clutching a blanket, blinked bleary eyes and squeaked his mentor's name.

"Halt."

Rowan's Commandant smiled over his coffee, "No, he just woke. You'd better hurry if you'd like to escape his wrath. I don't know if you've noticed, but he's not a morning person, and he takes it out on everyone else."

With that Crowley left Rowan before the hearth, stretched out on the rug where he'd slept the night before. The apprentice was quick to rise and dress in clean clothes before his mentor emerged from Crowley's spare bedroom. He was pulling on his boots when Halt slipped into the main area of the little house, fully attired down to the last black shafted arrow in his quiver.

"And here I was thinking I might need to borrow a bucket from Crowley," Halt murmured. The Ranger headed for the table, gravitating instinctually towards the aroma of fresh coffee. Rowan followed, a smile quirking the corners of his lips.

The mornings had become something of a challenge for him. Rising before Halt meant that the Ranger hadn't the chance to humiliate him, something that Rowan suspected his mentor enjoyed. It was all in good fun, he was sure of it. He knew very well from experience how unfair Halt could be, though with bandits and marauders fairness didn't usually apply. Still, Halt had never been cruel to Rowan.

The apprentice was overwhelmingly grateful to Crowley, mostly because he doubted Halt would've let his antics go, even for a day. It would have been quite embarrassing for Rowan to have to sit at breakfast before his Commandant, dripping all over the place. Halt wasn't cruel, but he wasn't exactly merciless either.

"So what're we doing today?" Rowan ventured to ask as he joined the older Ranger's at Crowley's table. Morning light spilled in through a window over the stove, bathing the floor in bright color.

Crowley leaned on the counter, a warming pot of coffee off to one side. Halt helped himself and gestured toward Crowley.

"Whatever it is he does."

The Ranger Commandant looked only mildly surprised, "What on earth did I do to deserve you as an assistant for the day?"

Halt raised one eyebrow, "Assistant? I prefer to be an audience. You'll work, I'll watch."

"And what about your apprentice? Is he here for the show as well?" A light smile tugged at the corner of Crowley's lips.

Halt shook his grizzled head, "_He_ can assist you. It's about time he learned a little something of the other side of a Ranger's duty." Looking to his apprentice Halt aimed his next words at Rowan. "Unfortunately, we're not permitted to spend all of our time in the forest. We're required to attend the occasional meeting, and file the routine reports."

Though Rowan had learned a lot about unseen movement and the use of his weapons, along with a good deal of geography, he hadn't been taught about the letter work of being a Ranger. Now that he thought on it, he did often recall seeing Halt reading over a letter or two and jotting down replies at odd times of the day.

The meetings were another matter, but Rowan supposed that with a pending war the Ranger's would be subject to such things. He wondered if it would be anything like the Ranger Gathering he'd heard so much about.

"You're still going to that see the King, aren't you?" Halt asked his Commandant.

Crowley nodded, "It's not far off. If you're coming with me we should get going."

"Your first lesson of the day," Halt told Rowan as he stirred his cup of coffee, "Is to never be late to a meeting. Especially not one with the King."

"So we'll leave now?" The apprentice ventured.

Halt frowned, "Right after I finish my coffee."

* * *

When Fell woke to someone pounding on his door he rolled away from the racket and groaned. He drug his pillow over his head and briefly considered smothering himself until he lost consciousness. By the amount of noise they were making they'd eventually break down the door, or so Fell assumed. He imagined them finding him unconscious, one arm hanging off the bed.

Somehow he didn't think it would dissuade them from forcing him back to wakefulness.

"I'm up," he called, buffeting the covers with his voice. He sat up and rested his feet on the cold floor, pausing a moment to run a hand through his hair. As it often did when he moved too quickly, Fell's vision went blotchy. He clenched his eyes shut and pressed his palms against them, resting his elbows on his knees.

Sprawled across the floor at Fell's bedside was a mound of grey fur, shifting softly with deep breaths belonging to the sleep consumed. As the noise grew louder the dog fidgeted, pawing at the air with one forepaw, a floppy ear flicking up in annoyance. The sound of a growl rising low and deep in the animal's throat brought Fell's attention to his four legged friend.

"Hey, boy," he said as he nudged the dog with his foot. Immediately the warning died, replaced by the slow and steady thumping of Ghost's tail.

Abruptly, the pounding ceased.

"Are you dressed?"

The muffled voice was one Fell couldn't quite put a face to. It wasn't likely Kerjack or Marek, whom he'd recognize easily. The voice was too deep to be Strider, not that Fell thought she'd be speaking to him anyways. Of course, if there was a crisis they would have to endure being around one another to deal with it, no matter how sore their feelings might still be after the night before.

"I'm completely naked," Fell informed the man who spoke through the door. "Indecent and half-blind."

Though Fell was just beginning to blink the last remnants of sleep from his eyes he was wearing clean trousers. Habit ensured he couldn't sleep without being at least half dressed. Habit, and the possibility of a crisis. Should Fell need to leap to wakefulness in the event that he was needed in a moment's notice, he'd better be wearing pants. Often times the circumstances of the incident—which could be anything from a Shadow in dire need of assistance or the barracks bursting into flames—did not allow time for him to properly attire himself for the trouble that awaited him.

Not every situation required him spiffed up in a neat collar and straight cuffs, but he was simply no good without pants.

"Wait, why are you—Oh never mind. Just get dressed. There's a lady here, and she says she wants to speak to you."

_A lady?_ Fell frowned. He couldn't think of any lady, especially not one of the court, who would call on him. He pushed himself to his feet and pulled on the nearest shirt he could find, grateful that he had the time to do so. He took another minute or so to wash his face and run a brush over his teeth, determined to appear somewhat unruffled by being roused so early. If it was someone from the King's court or castle he didn't want to look as if he had just rolled out of bed, even though it was in fact his morning off.

He deliberated for a moment whether he should don a tunic over his shirt and slap on a belt over it. He settled for the belt but left the grey tunic hanging over a chair. Fell thought the fabric was a bit drab in its dowdy coloring, and he didn't want to keep someone waiting while he went in search of another tunic that he may never find in the clutter of his room.

With a final running of his hand through his short hair, Fell slipped out into the hall, wondering who it was that wanted to see him. Ghost, who'd lain still as death while his master dressed, dragged himself to his paws to go trotting after Fell.

* * *

"Come on, knock me off my feet," Strider invited, gesturing for Glade to give it another try. She'd woken her apprentice early that morning, striving to get in a bit of training with him before she was dragged away for the day. There were always errands to run and never enough Shadows to run them all, a predicament that left most of the men—and Strider—doubling up on the duties.

With sweat sliding down his temple in steady trickles, Glade watched his mentor intently. They were barefoot in the sandy yard of Fell's House, the Shadow's barracks, as some had begun calling it. Glade was feeling unusually optimistic for once about the hand to hand combat lesson. Though it wasn't one of his few fortes he was getting better all the time. Eventually he'd be able to floor an opponent with practiced ease, an acquired skill that he labored at constantly to learn.

Strider was teaching him a leg sweep, one that would put someone in the dirt if done right. He'd seen her do it a hundred times, a confusing little flurry of movement, and down they'd go. When simplified, the move was surprisingly unsophisticated. Glade had been expecting a complicated explanation of the exact angle he needed to strike at, along with the amount of force he would have to apply. It was, Strider assured him, all in where you struck. The rest would follow after.

"A lot of times it pays to go for the lowest part of the leg," Strider advised Glade. "Don't hesitate either. It's all about where you hit and how quick. The force is all in the speed."

Glade nodded as it was something Strider had repeated countless times. She'd also demonstrated a great deal with another Shadow who volunteered. They'd taken turns knocking one another to the ground, showing how swift and precise the movement was.

"Accuracy comes first," Sarick had advised. Older than Strider, the Shadow was adept at hand to hand combat, and had become an avid partner in Glade's determined quest to show up his mentor. "Practice it slowly, so you can hit the same spot every time. Then work on doing it quickly."

Eyeing his mentor's foot, Glade tapped her ankle with his own. "Here?"

"Good, but you'll hit with the other side of your foot, it'll hurt less that way. When you wear boots you won't feel a thing," she told him.

He nodded again and Sarick gestured for him to pick out a spot on his leg. Glade was startled by how much thinner Strider's ankle was compared to Sarick's own blocky one. The man was rather short and stocky, and a bit unlikely to fall should Glade attempt to sweep his legs away from him. Glade didn't think he would give way under an assault any more than a brick wall would.

After a few more guesses at where he should strike, Strider gestured for him to go for it.

"Knock me down," she told him, grinning a bit. Strider was no less sweat soaked than he or Sarick was. Though the sun was still low in the sky and the day had started off a little chilly, the morning's exertion had the three of them wishing for rain and cooler days. Taking up a defensive stance, Strider waved her apprentice to show a bit of haste.

"Excuse me."

Strider's gaze was riveted on Glade, who couldn't take his eyes off his target. Oblivious to all else, neither one heard the soft stepped approach of the woman until she spoke. By then it was too late. Glade's foot struck out a bit awkwardly to connect solidly with Strider's forward leg as her head turned. Following through with the motion, Glade jerked his mentor's feet from the earth.

With a deflating _whump _Strider hit the ground, landing heavily on her back. The wind rushed from her lungs and she rolled onto her side with a strangled cough.

"Oh my God it worked!"

"Good…" Strider wheezed approvingly. "Very… Good…," she gasped out. Her eyes were watering, and the effort to get up seemed too much to bother with. She couldn't stop her breath from hissing between her teeth as a crushing pain pressed on her chest, spreading like wildfire to her side.

Though the Shadows had been practicing the move on each other for the better part of an hour they usually had some forewarning as to when they were going to be dumped on their backs. The idea was to hit the ground rolling, something of which Strider had neglected to do when she paused to glance over her shoulder. It was a fool's mistake.

"Oh Lord!"

The woman sounded appalled, and Strider heard Sarick murmuring something that she guessed was for the lady's benefit.

"Strider, are you okay?" Glade was peering down at her, wide eyed with shock and surprise.

"I'm fine," she assured him, but stayed on the ground for a good few moments, curled around her side.

"Should I get Fell?"

"No, I'm alright," Strider replied a little too hastily. She reached a hand up to her apprentice, and he clasped it and pulled his mentor to her feet. Breathing brought a dull aching pain to life in her side, and Strider resolved to speak as little as possible. "That was very good."

Looking sheepish, Glade shrugged. "I'm still sorry."

"Don't say that," she said as she ruffled his hair. "I dared you." Strider smiled at her apprentice, hoping he wouldn't be too careful the next time they practiced. It had taken a while before he had become comfortable with truly trying to beat her in sparring. She'd hate for him to become as dainty as he had been before.

"I'm looking for Fell," the woman said to Sarick.

Strider looked towards her, wondering what she wanted from the Shadow's leader. She was pretty, with long auburn hair she had pinned up neatly. With high cheek bones and deep brown eyes, she was something to look at. Oddly enough, there was something familiar about her that Strider couldn't place.

"I believe I owe him thanks."

Wincing with the movement, Strider moved to where Sarick stood near the woman. She had a melodious voice, one that was almost regal to Strider's ear. The way she held herself suggested she was a noble, but the dress she wore was as common as they come.

"I think he's busy, but Sarick can fetch him if it's important," she told her. Strider knew that Fell was sleeping in, as he occasionally did. Once he woke he'd likely be up all through the night catching up on paper work or running errands. He would need the rest, but the woman seemed earnest enough. Not to mention Strider couldn't see Fell turning her aside if she needed a favor, or wanted to give thanks as she claimed.

Strider found she didn't quite like the idea of the stranger 'giving thanks.'

"Oh please," the woman said, brightening, "I'd be grateful if he would." She smiled pleasantly at Sarick and he led her toward the House, talking all the while.

"She's pretty," Glade said once they were out of earshot. "And she wants to see Fell?"

"Apparently." Breathing was still a bit difficult, but nowhere near as noisy as it had been before.

The apprentice shook his head, "I'm jealous."

Canting an eyebrow at Glade, Strider gazed at him levelly. "Since when did you develop an interest in women?"

The picture of innocence stood before Strider, all amber eyes and clueless smile. "I spent the weekend with Marek, remember?"

For a moment Strider said nothing, a thoughtful smile tugging at one corner of her lips. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She was thinking of Marek and his rants, and with a decisive shake of her head she put an arm around her apprentice's shoulder, her expression curious.

"Now what exactly did Marek tell you about women?"

* * *

Amber was to wait while Sarick fetched Fell. She paced the main room of the barracks, figuring it to be the common room. She took in the large table and spacious kitchen, the wide hearth and clean swept floor. Amber almost couldn't believe that the place was under Fell's command. He hadn't always seemed to be the most tidy of types, but he always smelled nice.

_Of lilies and lavender, _she thought with a smile.

The woman felt a prick of dismay as she thought of all the time that had passed since she'd last seen him. She wondered idly if it was still alright that she called him David, or would he prefer she simply addressed him as Fell. Everyone else seemed to refer to him as such, even the wild woman outside.

That at least was something of a relief to her. If the two of them weren't on a true name basis than maybe this would work. Maybe things would be alright after all.

Steps sounded on the smooth floorboards before Amber could ponder the past any longer. Sarick stepped back into the common room with another man following after.

The breath slipped quite quickly from Amber. He was as she remembered and yet different. His hair was shorn shorter, his shoulders a bit broader than she recalled. Nothing about his eyes had changed, much to her relief. She loved the deep emerald they were, and it saddened her that she'd never told him so.

She saw the recognition flash in his gaze, watched the depth filled eyes show sudden surprise. Too quick a guarded expression crossed his face, the shock replaced by something wary. For a moment Amber had thought she'd seen something like regret, all dressed in green, just before the curtain came down. He stopped in the entryway, pausing like a hare frozen in their tracks. She saw him straighten and swallow hard, and couldn't help but wonder what he felt.

Offering a small smile to him, Amber regained her stature. She didn't quite know what she felt either. Warmth, at seeing him again, dismay at him looking so forlorn. Regret for broken hearts, hope for a second chance.

"Hello, David."

* * *

She wasn't who he expected.

On a list of all the people Fell had ever known, she was among the few he dreaded so passionately to find standing in his kitchen, waiting for his attention. It didn't help that she was beyond beautiful. Lesser born she might be, but she was gorgeous. High cheek bones, pretty eyes.

Absolutely breathtaking.

Fell found himself wishing he'd taken more time to spruce up his appearance, the tunic he'd left in his room suddenly feeling too far away. A life line lost in the current. He wasn't bedraggled, but goodness, he wasn't very attractive either. Not in the way _she_ was.

"Amber."

The name felt funny on his tongue, ticklish against his teeth. Something like warmth sparked to life in him. Dear sweet Amber, standing before him as she hadn't in what felt like years.

In truth it had only been a few months, maybe several, but so much had come to pass since they last spoke. She'd stopped him in his tracks, petrified him. No matter what had happened Fell didn't think that would ever change. He'd forever be reminding himself to breathe in her presence.

Clearing his throat, Sarick nodded to Fell and headed for the door. Fell was torn between calling the man back and leaving him as he was. Somehow he wasn't sure being alone with Amber would have any benefit.

Fate, however, cursed Fell with a throat too dry to spill forth words. Sarick left, and Fell's gaze sidled back to Amber.

_Which way will the cat jump?_

Once, while Fell and his Deputy had been cornered by several very angry swordsmen, Strider had uttered the phrase. It had brought wicked grins to the furious individuals, just before several well thrown daggers brought their lives to swift ends.

For some reason the saying came back to Fell's mind now. Amber might not be a solider with a sword and a desire to run him through, but that didn't mean she wasn't a threat. Fell didn't know by which route he could flee, let alone if he could manage an escape at all.

"How are you?" She asked, the smile on her face fading a little. It still showed in her eyes. Fell was almost certain she was glad to see him, but he didn't dare let that go to his head. Marek had deemed him a man of tact on the subject of women, but that in no way made him an expert, let alone a miracle worker.

"I'm alright. You?"

Fell thanked the Gods that his voice came out level, although quieter than he had hoped. He regained his composure, pulling it around him like he would a cloak.

"I've been better," Amber admitted. Determined to say more before things became awkward, Amber gestured towards him. "I came here to thank you."

"I don't recall doing anything of merit," Fell said. Amber was like the majority of women, most of which possessed a near arcane ability to hide their emotions. He couldn't tell what she was feeling, had no clue what she might be thinking. It was a lot like playing with fire or a skittish horse, Fell thought. One could never know.

"You helped a certain girl, a young woman actually. Just the other day."

"Oh," though Fell nodded, he didn't quite understand why Amber would be thanking him for that.

As if she had read his mind, Amber tipped her head to one side, her smile widening ever so slightly. "Heather's my cousin."

Understanding shone in Fell's gaze. He could think of nothing to say in reply, and suddenly felt awkward and out of place in his own home. He was saved when a plethora of Shadows spilled in the door, a great deal of dirt accompanying them. Fell eyed the floor with dismay, thinking that he'd likely be the one to sweep it up later.

"Morning, Fell," Kerjack called over the din of the many men. There were half a dozen of them, all faces that Fell could easily put names to. They talked amongst themselves, not the kind of men to file in silently to stand judgment before their leader. Still, they did take notice that he was there with brief nods and grins.

Candle even caught his eye and winked, nudging the arm of Grain to whisper some comment to him that likely involved Fell's luck with the ladies.

"When's breakfast going to be ready?" One asked, and promptly received a friendly cuff from another.

"Why don't you tell us? It's your turn to cook."

Like hungry men tend to do, they steered themselves towards the kitchen, leaving Kerjack to give their leader the details of their trip.

"Morning, my lady," he said, and swept into a gracious bow, a broad grin on his face.

Amber laughed, "It's been a long time, Kerjack."

"Too long," the Shadow agreed. He smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry to be so brisk, but I was wondering if I might borrow Fell for a moment."

Scenarios started rolling in Fell's mind as they tended to when someone needed to 'borrow' him. He could practically imagine the funeral for a friend, the world draped in grey, his men dressed for mourning. He wondered who it could be. Who else had been with Kerjack and his entourage when they rode out the night before?

In one terrifying instant it all slipped Fell's mind, and all he could see were the many faces he commanded. All the lives he held in his hands coupled with the many ways he could let them down.

Distantly he was aware of Amber, who waved Kerjack off with a laugh. "Go ahead, take your time." He tried to catch Kerjack's eyes, to read the worry there, but the man wouldn't have it.

While Amber didn't seem to mind the intrusion Fell could feel the color draining from his face, sucked away by dread like a dry rag soaking up water.

Funny, how that had happened. He'd been so aggrieved to see Amber, more than a little struck and maybe even a bit frightened. Fell didn't want to have to come to grips with what he had neatly pushed aside to be dealt with later, but this was far worse.

There was no brushing aside his commitment as leader, no weaseling out of the hard times he dreaded. He was leader, with nowhere to run and no place to hide.

_Duty, _Fell reflected, _feels a lot like chains on my hands._

* * *

Flint's hooves clattered against the flagstones that lined the courtyard of Castle Araluen as the Ranger's rode through the wide flung gates. It had been only a short ride, but one Rowan enjoyed despite it. Though the apprentice didn't mind walking he definitely didn't favor it over riding. At least, not over riding with Flint.

The little Ranger horse was truly something else, unlike any other mount that Rowan had ever encountered. The beast was charming yet arrogant, and dutiful to the point of pain. Rowan loved the grey horse unconditionally and suspected that between bouts of showy trotting the gelding displayed a fondness for him too.

Of course, that's what he hoped all the nickering and snuffing was a sign of. It was exactly what Flint was up to as Rowan went about untacking him in a stall of the King's stables. Shifting his weight from one hoof to another, Flint leaned forward to blow a whiff of hot breath into Rowan's face.

The boy gave the horse an affectionate pat on the neck and a promise that they wouldn't be long before he followed Halt and Crowley from the stables.

The castle had always puzzled Rowan, with its many corridors and wide halls. Crowley swept through them easily, turning nearly identical corners and heading up a narrow servant's stairway with practiced ease. Rowan didn't doubt that the Ranger Commandant knew the castle like the back of his hand. To Rowan it seemed like nothing more than a maze. Should he be set loose within the castle he would likely never find the way out, let alone the cheese.

Rowan suspected that Crowley avoided most of the populated sections of the castle and settled instead on the less crowded ones. They passed only a few maids and one scurrying manservant before they slipped around yet another corner and into a wide granite floored hall. The white tiles were covered with soft veins of grey that lent the floor a smoky tint. Rowan thought the work simply exquisite, and glanced up to see what the roof might behold.

The apprentice had little time to appraise the craftsmanship of the vaulted ceilings, for Crowley had paused before a stout wooden door. While no one had said much of anything during the short walk up from the courtyard, Crowley clearly had something to get off his chest. His gaze shifted quickly from Halt to Rowan and back again.

"The King does not always settle on a lot of formality when the circumstances do not require it. The Corps, well, we've never really been one's for formality to begin with." The Ranger Commandant looked at a loss of words. He sighed and waved a hand at Halt and the Ranger's apprentice. Neither one of them seemed to be getting the gist of whatever Crowley was trying to bring to light.

"Well, never mind then. Just try not to act too appalled."

* * *

Gradiny Crewe, would-be Lord of Craggon's Keep, rose when the three cloaked Ranger's made their way into the King's wide office.

The large room was unchanged since his last visit, still as decadent as ever with the massive desk and spacious furnishings. At the King's request Grady had settled into one of the plushy upholstered armchairs to await the arrival of the other men. The pirate had a hunch at what they would be discussing, and was slightly put off that there wasn't more of the King's officials present. It was a bit of a slight—not to his good name—but his brother's.

Awkwardly, with a glance at the King and Crowley in turn Grady offered his hand to the Commandant. There was some formality or another that the pirate was sure to overlook or completely botch. With the King in attendance, Grady was attempting to tread lightly. He assumed he must have done something right, since Crowley took the offered handshake and murmured a morning greeting.

The Commandant then bowed to the King and traded the proper words with His Majesty.

It was another moment in which Grady had to resist the urge to shuffle his feet like a child. He stood dumbfounded a moment as Halt and Rowan filed in and bowed to the King.

"You may be seated," King Duncan said. Relieved, Grady sat. Rowan took a place closest to the pirate, with his mentor on the other side. The chairs were neatly arranged on the far side of the desk in a half circle that faced the King. Though there was a place for Crowley to join them he remained standing.

Duncan let out a long sigh, "You're not going to sit, are you?"

"Not unless His Majesty demands it."

The King rested his chin on his hand and waved a hand at the Corps Commandant. There was a trace of humor in his deep voice. "I'm not fool enough to ground a certain bird against it's will."

"Thank you, your Majesty."

With his hands folded neatly behind his back Crowley stood before his King quietly, a glint of laughter in his eye. When he didn't step off to one side as was customary, Duncan gestured at him to speak.

"Yes, Ranger?"

"Might I suggest that formalities—"

"No, Crowley. Take to your perch and sit pretty." The King was clearly amused, the Ranger defeated but seemingly not chafed by the outcome.

The exchange was one made almost daily, but it left Grady absolutely perplexed. Luckily the boy next to him seemed to be in the same boat, but try as he might Grady couldn't see the apprentice's mentor.

Crowley followed his usual routine and moved off to one side to lean against the wall as he had the first time Grady had been in the King's office. The pirate gathered that Crowley was often present during such meetings, and likely a close consultant of the King.

Still amused, Duncan looked to the Ranger's and sailor before him and offered a smile. "Well, now that he's out of the way, let's get right to it. Crowley thrives on drama and enjoys formalities to help him set the stage. Truth is, we don't have time for that today."

The Ranger Commandant had an interesting look on his face as the King spoke. A somewhat slighted expression that was creased with what Grady suspected to be dry humor. It was a look the pirate would expect from the boy's mentor. The Commandant had proved more animated than Halt.

"I'm glad you're here Halt, you're much experienced and would be an asset to the council later. I'd like to see you there as well when we discuss what we'll do about the south."

Another slight wash of relief, but Grady wasn't completely soothed yet. He felt better that the King was going to run the south's issues by his council, but he couldn't help but feel a bit impatient. Things had been crumbling when he left over a month ago. There was no telling what they might be like now.

"I'd like for all of you to be present later—"

The King didn't get any further before his daughter burst in, Duncan's secretary scurrying after.

"Dad—" Cassandra, Crown Princess of Araluen, paused abruptly as she noticed the guests. The Rangers had risen to their feet, and after a brief hesitation Grady joined them in standing. With an impressive show of diplomacy the Princess regained her composure, straightening abruptly. She was resplendent in a flowing dress of emerald, her hair bound back with a clasp of jade.

"Oh. Pardon me, hello there."

"Good morning," Grady offered, surprised by the blonde girl. She'd come whirling into the room, carried on a wind of urgency.

"Your Majesty," the secretary attempted, but words swiftly failed him.

Rowan was certain that words would not have spilled forth from him just then either. The Princess was surprisingly pretty. He'd heard rumors of course, but he didn't think hair could be so long and blonde. It fell along her shoulders in waves that were the epitome of perfection. At least, that's how Rowan would have described it. Nothing less seemed an adequate rendering of the moment.

"Yes, dear?"

Duncan didn't sound at all dismayed by the intrusion. He was very fond of his daughter, a fact that was well known. Though it was an important discussion it could surely wait a moment or two before it continued.

While the secretary floundered Cassandra apologized. "Sorry, I don't mean to intrude, I just thought—" her gaze roved the room before stopping abruptly on Grady, widening a little. "Are you the messenger?"

"Yes, ma'am. Gradiny Crewe, nice to meet you. Your Majesty."

He stumbled a bit, but the pirate thought he did a well enough job of keeping propriety in mind. Grady was almost certain he had used the right form of address.

Now Cassandra's eyes had shifted to her father, "My question isn't that important, but is it all right if I sit in?"

Crowley felt a pang of sympathy for Anthony, the secretary. After struggling to get out a single word and resolve the interruption the man was subject to the Princess's own resolution, leaving him speechless. He stood with arms at his sides, defeated. Lately Cassie, as the King referred to his daughter, had been a witness to various meetings and councils. It was all in preparation for the time when she would run the realm, and had stirred in her an interest in the business of the Kingdom. Crowley suspected that she had heard of the messenger from the south but hadn't been privy to the issues his letter proposed.

Clearly she was curious, and Duncan didn't think she could do any harm. He nodded and gestured to the armchair originally meant for Crowley, smiling slightly.

"Thank you, Anthony," the King said, and the secretary retreated with a defeated nod of his head.

"Anything, sire."

Cassandra took the chair next to Halt, settling down and quieting quickly. "Go on."

The men resumed their seats, following Duncan's example. For the most part the King acted as if nothing had changed. He cleared his throat, frowned a bit, and looked to Crowley.

"Where were we?"

Sharp as any designated secretary, the Commandant replied readily. "You were getting ready to discuss the council tonight."

"Oh yes," Duncan turned back to the audience before his desk, gesturing at them with one hand. "The news from the south is definitely something that needs to be addressed. The council will meet tonight to decide on what's to be done."

"Pardon?"

The word slipped out before Grady could get a handle on himself. He was forever forgetting that he was before the reigning monarch and not a man he stood on equal footing with. When common sense would persuade someone to be silent Grady's gut demanded he speak up.

It didn't help that the King looked to Grady expectantly, emerald eyes open to what the pirate had to say. Goodness, didn't the monarch know not to invite a bandit to voice his opinion?

"Is something wrong?"

"You make it sound as if sending help might be out of the question," Grady said, feeling a trickle of fear at the possibility.

"We don't know much about what is happening in the south," Crowley murmured, earning himself a cynical look from the pirate.

Though Grady's voice was worn sounding it still held a biting edge. "And how much more do you need to know? Deliberation is dangerous. Time is not a patient thing. Bryce is ruthless. Have I missed anything?"

"Quite a lot, actually," Cassandra said, piping up. "Might I ask why deliberation is dangerous?"

If she hadn't been a girl Grady would've snapped back with a great deal of colorful language. As it was, he forced himself to recall that the girl's father could easily have him strung up from the nearest tree at a moment's notice. It might have been that thought or another that involved his mother's scolding on cursing in front of ladies. In truth, Grady would be quicker to defy the King than his mother. Old crone she might be, granny Anne had impeccable aim when it came to swatting her sons.

"It's a simple thing. Good men are dying while a decision is made. The sooner men are sent, the better."

"And they will be sent if they're needed," Duncan assured Grady. The King's voice held the slightest hint of annoyance, a dangerous coloring of his tone.

This, unfortunately, did not faze the pirate. Grady just didn't know when to stop running his mouth, something that had gotten him into more than one brawl in many raucous taverns. Unlike those fights Grady's opponent was not another drunken patron but the notably sober and powerful monarch of the very kingdom he stood in.

Grady rose abruptly with a jerky movement. He spoke in a way that formed his words into stones he set at the King's feet. "I didn't come all this way to hear that you _might_ help us. That is not what Bran sent me for."

"And what did your brother send for?" The monarch shot back mildly. Duncan's composure was slipping, the tension in the room rising. Crowley uncrossed his arms, looking from the King to Grady, regarding them both with a wary look. The Commandant wasn't quite sure how far Grady would go before Duncan ended it.

"He sent me to get help from a King that cared, but I must have come to the wrong place."

Duncan rose to his feet, startling the rest of the room into following suit. Chairs scraped against the granite floor as Ranger's and Princess alike bolted to their feet. Rowan took a step back from the angry King, standing a little behind Halt. The apprentice drowned out the urge to say he didn't do it, to claim his innocence and denounce the name of the guard who'd caught him.

Old habits had a tendency to die hard, but Rowan clamped his jaw and kept his mouth shut anyways, deciding abruptly that silence was one of his virtues.

"It isn't only about the south and Rockfall. This affects the rest of the Kingdom, and will be addressed fairly by the council," Duncan warned.

Grady snorted in derision. "Rockfall is too far off for anyone on your damn council to give a lick. Bran is just a lowly Lord way off in some distant place they'll never visit, why should they care if some men way off in the mountains slaughter each other like animals?"

With a hesitancy that didn't show on his face Crowley objected, "That is not true. The King's Council consists of a representative from each fief."

"Hah!" The pirate laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. He was furious, the picture of a rebellious subject reaching that breaking point. Grady wouldn't give up, refused to let it go.

"Representative? The bastard isn't even from Rockfall!"

The King's fist struck his heavy desk with a resounding thud that swung all eyes in the room to him. Slightly red faced, Duncan fixed Grady with a firm look and spoke in a voice that was surprisingly calm.

"That's quite enough. The council will meet tonight regardless of whether you're present or not. I suggest you work on your behavior, outbursts will not be tolerated."

The monarch's tone left no room for negotiation, bringing a vile light in Grady's eyes. It was clear that the sailor had much more to say that he was holding back. His mouth thinned down into one grim line, a crooked slash beneath his blocky nose.

For a moment the two men stood with gazes locked, glaring across the room at one another. The silence was so quiet that Rowan was convinced he would hear a pin hitting the floor should someone have dropped one. The apprentice didn't deign to breathe until Duncan spoke again, dispelling the mood with a dismissal.

"You may leave," he told Grady. The pirate gritted his teeth and turned on his heel to head for the door leading into the outer anteroom, neglecting to bow as was proper or reply with a 'yes Majesty.'

As the heavy oak door closed behind Grady the King dropped back into his chair.

"Assign someone to follow him," the monarch advised Crowley quietly. The Commandant nodded sagely in reply. Crowley had already decided it would be in the Kingdom's best interest to keep an eye on the pirate. Grady didn't pose much of a threat on his lonesome, but it wouldn't pay to have him running around and spouting off treasonous ideas. It was a precaution worth taking.

"I'll notify the guard immediately," the Ranger said. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do?"

Duncan shook his head, "That'll be all." Crowley had bowed, mimicked in turn by Halt and Rowan, when the King had a sudden thought.

"Wait a moment, one more thing. Who will be at the council for the Shadows?"

"Likely Strider," Crowley offered as he turned back to face his monarch.

Cassandra, who had remained silent since the pirate had spoken to her, brightened at this but said nothing.

"Do you think she'll be as vocal as her uncle?"

"Would you like reassurance or honesty?"

Looking at the Ranger Commandant, Duncan found he couldn't quite tell whether or not Crowley was being serious.

"Have you ever been anything other than honest?" The King shot back dryly. The remark brought the barest hint of a smile to Crowley's innocent face.

"I suppose we can only hope she'll be no louder."

* * *

Leading the way to his room, Fell pushed the door open and headed for the table where his wash basin rested. He desperately needed something to lean on and promptly propped himself up against the edge of the sturdy stand. Having trailed Fell to the common room and back again, Ghost flopped down with a groan of complaint alongside the bed, pale eyes settling on his owner who was looking to Kerjack.

The older man could tell by the look on his leader's face, one of worry and stern control, that Fell was steeling himself for the worst. Closing the door quietly behind him Kerjack put his hands up in a gesture of reassurance.

"It's alright, no one is hurt."

Fell didn't look convinced, "Are you sure?"

"Completely," Kerjack told him sincerely. "I wouldn't hide anything like that from you."

The leader let out a short sigh, a brief taste of relief. Kerjack watched his friend's white knuckled hands relax where they squeezed the edge of the table. He waited until the color started to return to Fell's face before he spoke.

"No one's hurt, but you might be after I tell you this."

"Someone's missing?"

Kerjack shook his head, noticing that Fell was quick to resume his death grip. "No, everyone is alright and accounted for."

Fell opened his mouth to throw out another guess at the issue. Kerjack cut him off before he could get any words out.

"I wanted to talk to you about the council tonight."

"Oh," visibly Fell relaxed, even going so far as to move to his bed and take a seat on the edge. The need to be held up had been replaced by an urge to sit down and stay there.

"What about it?"

Grabbing a chair from the table Kerjack turned it to face Fell, sitting across from his leader like the good friends they were. Sadly neither one could remember when they'd last had the time to talk about anything that didn't pertain to the Shadows.

"Usually Strider goes to most of the councils, but I think you should go tonight."

Fell rubbed at his chin, frowning. His Deputy had taken to going for the Shadows, showing up at the castle to sit through the long winded discussions and arguments. Strider hardly ever took notes but always reported back to Fell on what was discussed. Most of the time the proceedings didn't deal directly with the Shadows, but it paid to stay in the loop. He didn't like going to the meetings anymore than Strider did, and had been avoiding attending any for well over a few weeks now.

"Is Strider not feeling well?" Fell asked hesitantly. He couldn't think of any other reason why he should go, other than Strider being busy. The leader doubted that was the issue. Even though Strider didn't like going to the council she was good about never missing a meeting, arranging someone to pick up any duty she wouldn't be able to get around to.

"If that was the case she'd have come to you herself," Kerjack promised, wondering how it was they kept wandering back to the welfare of their comrades.

"Maybe not."

Kerjack's brows rose, "Not speaking?"

"Not as far as I can tell," Fell said.

For as long as Fell could remember him being a part of the Shadows Kerjack had always been something of a therapist. He was exceptionally talented when it came to dealing people, and could sort through just about any problem with the same patience demonstrated by the pines that grew around an inch a year. Fell was often convinced that Kerjack didn't sleep, but lay in bed to wait for the sun to rise in the morning.

Such a wise figure had gained himself a great deal of respect, carving out a good name with a face that every Shadow knew by heart. He was, in some ways, an advisor to the Shadows as a whole. More than that, Kerjack had become a mentor and a father figure to Fell. When it came to personal matters he could always depend on the older man to have a bit of foresight on the situation that often helped him make a decision.

Though Fell had never intended for Kerjack to get involved the Shadow was well aware of the relationship between the leader and his deputy. He knew they'd been friends for a long while and had a good grasp of just what they'd been through together. Kerjack could see that they relied on one another like a team of two horses pulling a wagon, a task they couldn't do unless they worked together. It wasn't the same when they quarreled, with the both of them tugging any which way but the same. He often worked as the median between them when they were at odds, counseling them to put aside differences, making them compromise.

In reality it was a tenuous situation for the both them, even if they didn't know it. Kerjack would never wish any harm to either of them but had worries that they'd grown a little too close to avoid the consequences. He couldn't even begin to imagine one struggling to cope without the other, the chaos it would throw the Shadows into. Not only that, but Kerjack dreaded the day he might see one of them broken by that kind of loss. He'd grown fond of leader and deputy, and loved them like the little niece and nephew he'd never had. The chance for tragedy was all too high in Kerjack's opinion, but he simply couldn't bring himself to be the one to push them apart. He'd seen them just about at each other's throats, fighting like there was no tomorrow. But he couldn't forget the times when he'd witnessed them—despite the fact that their world was falling down around them—smiling. There were times when they were happy together, times that Kerjack would not take away from them.

"What is it this time?" The older Shadow asked, voice quiet and encouraging. Fell shot him a guarded look that might have been offensive had it not been so halfhearted.

"It isn't that important. I'll work it out with her sooner or later."

Kerjack shrugged, "Sooner would be better. The King is holding council tonight, and I've heard it said that Gradiny will be there to tell how things are in the south. It only makes sense to expect that there may be a number of… Misplaced accusations made about us."

Fell could see where Kerjack was going before he'd completely arrived there. The leader ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully.

"And you don't want Strider to go it alone?"

"Do you?"

He couldn't say that he would be thrilled to be caught up in a conversation with Strider just yet, but Fell had no intentions of condemning her to a night of torture. Not to mention that if the so called 'accusations' got a little out of hand Strider would not react diplomatically. He couldn't let her sow the relatively decent name of the Shadows.

"I'll go," Fell conceded.

"With her?"

He nodded, but seemed to think better of it. He gave Kerjack a curious look, "Unless you think we can lock her in a closet."

The older Shadow chuckled, "I wouldn't count on it. Now tell me what this is about the two of you not speaking. It has to do with her upbringing, doesn't it?"

Scoffing, Fell let out a sigh and relented. "It's like you stalk us."

"You shouldn't be surprised, Fell, you and Strider are two of the most predictable people I've ever met, and you've only gotten easier to read since that first fateful day."

Giving his friend a slightly vexed look, Fell rose to his feet. "I'll be held hostage and tortured until I tell you, won't I?"

Kerjack smiled, a warm show of praise for the younger man. "It's good to know that I'm not the only one who can read people. Now come on, out with it. The sooner you tell the sooner I can remedy this."

Fell huffed in derision, "_You're _not the one that has to face her tonight and act as if nothing had ever happened."

"And what happened?"

Pacing his way back to the table the leader shook his head and sighed. "We had an argument about her not telling me before this. She might not have meant it to be this way, but it's something she kept from me. I had to find out in a room full of the King's men that my own deputy is noble born."

Kerjack nodded, folding his arms across his belt and knitting his hands together over the buckle. His tone turned soft and consoling with a scholarly edge. "I see. And how does this make you feel?"

He was clearly amused, something that left Fell feeling indignant. Experience had taught Fell that there was no point in attempting to be anything but honest with the 'therapist.'

"Slighted to be truthful, Kerjack. I thought there weren't any secrets between us, but she's been keeping that to herself for, well, since the beginning."

"And are you willing to testify that you've told her everything about you and held nothing back?"

"No," Fell retorted sharply. He promptly looked at this feet, thinking of all the things he wished Kerjack didn't know about him. "But this is different. My father wasn't noble, none of my siblings are fighting on the other side. It doesn't matter."

Though the pace of Fell's steps never changed he had gradually taken on a more aggravated stride until he was tearing from one side of the room to the other like a caged animal. Kerjack could hear the snarl in his voice, the barest hint of anger that appeared as faint as a tint of color in a cast of light.

"Fell, I'm going to take a wild gander here and say that Strider _wishes_ it didn't matter."

Irked, the leader rounded to face his friend. Kerjack half expected Fell to show his teeth in defiance by the way he whipped around. On the contrary the younger man's face was, for the most part, calm. He was not a man for anger, not someone who could be easily provoked. Fell might leave ruts in the floorboards with his rough steps but he'd never shout to make his point known, not even during one of the rare moments when he was truly fuming. His mouth was one thin line, his eyes a stern shade of sage.

"Are you saying what she's done is right?"

Of course, that didn't mean there couldn't be a certain amount of bluntness to his tone, even if Fell was nowhere near combustion.

"Never," Kerjack replied easily. "Strider should have told you regardless, but she doesn't often hide things from you. Have you thought that maybe her family is a tender subject?"

"'Regardless,' as in it doesn't matter if it's a personal conflict or not," the leader replied.

"We both agree then that it's wrong and a sore spot," the older man said as he rose, ignoring Fell's remark. "That's good, because all that's left is the solution to the issue you have. It all starts with the discipline, the berating that you seem to have already done. But you've got to mend it, Fell."

"I'm not going to apologize." He was adamant, standing firm before the Shadow's self appointed therapist. Fell didn't like fighting with his deputy, nor the silence that followed after. He hated running into her when they weren't on the best of terms, the frayed bits of an argument lingering in both their minds. Mending it, as Kerjack put it, wasn't at all as easy as it sounded. There was usually a stalemate for a good day or so, longer if one of them was called away. It was followed by what had a tendency to be a brief relapse to the dilemma, a less heated recap of the debate. In the end they would compromise or on rare occasion one would win the other over to their cause. It was a complicated process, open to various setbacks that were ultimately devastating to the rekindling.

And yet Fell blatantly refused to offer forth an apology on his part. He had done nothing wrong in regard to his deputy, and even felt that he'd given her a little leeway on the matter. It would have gone over quite differently had it been another Shadow hiding their could-be important heritage. As it was, the leader had taken the matter lightly. Fell hated admitting it to himself, but he'd only been so soft about it because it was more personal than professional. He didn't feel alright with penalizing Strider for something that hurt him more than it hurt the Shadows. For a moment Fell could almost see Strider standing in a corner of the common room, facing the wall as her fellow Shadows shunned her for displeasing their leader. The image brought with it a pang of guilt. What kind of monster could do that to someone they called friend?

_Wonderful, you've let Kerjack get you all emotional. Can't be too long now before you're craving sweets to drown the pain._

Kerjack was eying Fell contentedly when the leader looked up to meet his friend's gaze. The man clapped a hand on his shoulder and nodded, satisfied. He'd seen the thoughts swirling in the green eyes, had known that his friend was thinking it all through, putting it all together in his head. The flash of uncertainty and guilt was the nail in the coffin, the final confirmation that Kerjack had done his job and done it well.

"My work here is done," he said proudly, "Yours is only just beginning, and I wish you luck with that."

Fell sighed, "Lucky me," he grumbled.

"Ha, lucky you is right," the amused therapist replied, "there's a pretty girl out there in the common room waiting to have words with you. Words I'm willing to bet are going to be nothing of the sort you'll exchange later with Strider." Kerjack smiled as he opened the door, backing into the hall to face his leader.

"Can't wait for that," Fell drawled sarcastically in reply. "I wasn't sure how I wanted to spend my night but it's all clear to me now, why not in a fight to the death?"

And it would be. He was sure of it. Between the King's Council and his deputy Fell would be torn to pieces, ripped to shreds by one or the other.

* * *

**Tada. The chapter that took me an absurdly long time to write. I hope you enjoyed and pretty please with a cherry on top, leave me a comment and let me know how you felt about the latest installment. =) **

**Anyone have thoughts about Rowan? Amber? Fell and Strider?**


	8. Up To No Good

After giving the horse a gentle knee to the underbelly, Strider pulled the leather strap of the saddle taut, careful not to pinch Whiplash as she buckled it.

"There's my boy," the woman cooed. The large horse stomped a hoof in reply, mindful of Strider's feet.

After leaving Glade and Sarick to finish up their morning spar the deputy had slipped inside to wash up, change clothes, and collect her list of errands from Kerjack. With the coin that hung in a purse from her belt, Strider was to buy from the market a bag of apples, one of onions and potatoes, a short length of tanned leather, and all the coffee grounds the leftover coin could buy. There was also a blacksmith to speak to about the shoeing of the horses and the possible procuring of two short lengths of fine chain.

It would have been a typical day of undesirable tasks, but she'd paused to leave a note on the table in her room and tuck a letter and a handful of copper pieces into her pocket. Her absences were never long enough to warrant a note, and the few coins she took from her drawer were covered with dust from neglect.

_So today is just out of the ordinary, _she told herself. Strider was hoping against hope everyone else would think so and not pry too far into her business.

Warily, with this in mind, she led Whiplash from the lean-to and swung into the saddle swiftly, perching tensely while she gathered up the reins. With her thoughts concerned with the deed to be done, Strider was oblivious to her mount's own peculiar behavior.

Being a curious beast, Whiplash had swung his head to the side, peering at his owner with one intelligent eye. She was twitching. Why was she twitching? Nothing was worse than a twitchy rider. But then the horse saw that Strider had a certain… Look. One that Whiplash had come to know.

Snorting, the horse set off into a trot, head ducked lower than usual, dark eyes flicking back and forth at their surroundings. It was one of those days, he was sure of it. Some days they ran, some they rested, but today was different.

Today, they were up to no good.

* * *

Once Fell was certain Kerjack was done filling his head with miserable thoughts, he slipped from his room and back down the hall. He was doing his best to push his expectations for the night ahead to the back of his mind, fervently promoting happy thoughts. It wasn't shaping up to be a very enlightening experience.

When was the last time he'd smiled not for someone else's benefit, but simply because he couldn't keep joy or excitement from spilling over onto his face? Moments like such had been so far and few in between lately that Fell couldn't quite remember the most recent occasion. Had it been a week, a month? Who was it that had been responsible for that last lifting of his spirits?

Before Fell could pick apart the mystery he was standing in the common room, marveling at how wonderful and out of place Amber looked. The leader's gaze flicked nimbly over the men in the room, all part of his own ragtag band of warriors. They'd settled down in two's and three's, some at the hearth and a few more by the fire. Candle and Grain were fumbling around in the kitchen area, banging pots and pans and filling a few for coffee and tea. Amidst the usual morning clamor Amber was a spot of color standing in a world of grey.

He felt that same prick of longing for something—anything—that wasn't work related. Amber was a break in the routine, and Fell welcomed that if nothing more.

"We should go for coffee," he said as he came to stand beside her. She was watching the Shadows with polite interest, noting the way everyone seemed to have a place. Would she ever fit in with such a motley? Amber turned to look up at Fell when he spoke, dismissing her thoughts and playing a little smile on her lips. Her words came out sweet and soft, like honey from the comb.

"And here I was, thinking you would never ask."

* * *

"Legend has it there once was a man so used to the sea that he often became land sick."

Grunting, Grady hauled himself upright in bed, squinting at the silhouette that stood framed against the door of his room, cast into shadow.

"Are you suffering from such an ailment or are you simply in need of a pot and pan to help you wake?"

The sailor huffed, pulling his injured arm closer to his chest. "Niece, what do you want?"

Strider's words were soft and slow, her questions short and precise. "Why are you still sleeping?"

"I've already been up today to see the King at dawn."

"I don't envy you that," she remarked. "How's your arm?"

"Fine," Grady said, too stubborn to admit that the broken bone ached. "Might as well rest while I can," he added. The sailor hated to have anyone thinking that he was hampered by an injury, or worse, just a no good lollygagger. Grady was about to make a point of noting his good health and sprightly habits when his niece spoke up.

"We need to talk."

"If it's about—"

"Uncle," Strider's voice was just as quiet and measured, and yet there was something that Grady didn't like about it. "We're going to talk."

Gradiny swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. His dark eyes had narrowed to a squint that he kept trained on Strider. Across the small room, tucked against the door and out of the dim light, her face was unreadable. Her eyes, however, were easy to make out.

Long moments passed as they glared at one another in silent consideration. Finally, Grady sighed and rose to his feet.

"We're not going to like this."

* * *

The majority of the usual early morning customers had set out for the day when Fell and Amber found a table at a local inn. Choosing a place near the hearth, Fell swept his gaze across the nearly empty taproom. His eyes picked out the few stragglers, most of which seemed to be dwelling after their meal for chatter or a cup of something hot to drink.

"Like old times," Amber said, smiling. The way the woman settled herself in the chair across from Fell made her look like a doll set up for show. She was neat, tidy, and so very demure looking. Innocence, personified and set before him.

"I hope I still don't have to worry about your brother wringing the color out of me." As soon as Fell had spoken the words he wished he hadn't. His mouth snapped close quickly and his gaze flicked down to the table. It was a bad blunder from a rough and tumble vagabond like himself, and in the presence of Innocence herself.

_Nice one, _he commended himself sourly, but Amber laughed and rested a hand on the table between them. A very clean, dainty thing over a worn and chipped backdrop.

"No reason to worry about Mace," Amber promised. She tried to keep any edges from her voice, rounding out her tone to be even. It hurt that what she'd said was the truth, unlike the next words leave her lips. "He stayed behind in Meric, and sent me off to live with cousin Heather here in the city. Safer, that's what he claimed I would be here."

"And how do you feel now that you're here?" Going from sleeping anywhere he could close his eyes to having a bed to call his own had been a drastic change for Fell, one brought on by the Shadow's move to the kingdom's capital. He was curious to know if Amber's own travels had been as great an improvement as his.

The newly deemed Innocence looked into his eyes and smiled. "Now?" The way she asked it suggested a perk of an eyebrow, but there was no need to follow through with it. Like it had always been with Amber, all the woman felt was wrapped into her words. She didn't wave her hands or gesture with her eyes but hid her emotions in the murmur of her quiet voice.

"I must admit I had little confidence vested in this place, at first. After all, how could there be anywhere safer than under my brother's watchful eye?" Amber was still and regal as ever, but there was a hint of something mischievous in her voice.

"And yet? There's something here that has me assured that I'm better protected than I would be at home."

Fell's curiosity was mildly piqued. He'd seen more guards and knights roving through the kingdom's capital than anywhere else he'd been in Araluen, but that didn't mean it was the safest place to be. If anything, the abundance of well armed men suggested a need for such people to be around, to be on hand when a fight arose. The Shadow felt a prickle of guilt at realizing this. Mace—despite the fact that he had always despised Fell—was a decent enough man who cared deeply for his family. He'd always stuck by his sister and ailing father, doing his best by and for them. The best for Amber, Fell was afraid to admit, might not be the warring kingdom's capital.

Carefully, he formed the words and coaxed himself into saying them, already dreading Amber's reply. She had to know that Araluen wasn't the best place to be, but possibly the worst. There could be men of the Cult hiding anywhere in the city, waiting for a chance to strike at the King. Ruthless, blood hungry men, who wouldn't think twice about taking the life of someone like Amber.

"And what's that?"

There was a brief moment of silence that stretched between them. In it Amber took in the look on Fell's face, savoring his expression. She once recalled him saying that the eyes were a sort of doorway to the soul, and in his green gaze Amber could see the firm shape that was Fell. Strong, solid, warm. She wondered what he saw in her. Was it a pretty soul?

"You."

The word dropped from her lips, preceded by the barest smile. _It doesn't matter what he sees, _she mentally scolded herself. _As long he can't see through me._

* * *

With their shoulders nearly brushing uncle and niece headed through the streets, he hooves of Whiplash clopping against the earth behind them. The dirt street they were on was relatively narrow and uninhabited. Only a dozen or so folk could be seen heading up and down the boulevard, most of which were locals doing business among themselves before the workday picked up.

"He's yours?" Grady half turned his head toward the beast that stood on the far side of Strider.

"You could say."

Though Grady preferred to ride waves instead of horses he knew a fair deal about the animals. He'd grown up in a Keep with a stable full of them, and as the son of a man who adored and praised anything on four legs, had been expected to pick up a few things.

The mountain bred horses tended to be quite different from typical steeds of Araluen. They had a tendency to be average sized, with deeper chests and sloped shoulders. Most distinctive and memorable had always been their easy temperament.

"Not from the mountains?" Grady asked, eyeing Whiplash. His question was really more of a statement. The sailor could tell by looking at the horse, by the narrow body and horrific demeanor, that Whiplash hadn't come from the same land as him.

Strider wrapped her hands tighter into the reins she held as Whiplash tossed his head. The horse didn't like the way Grady was looking at him.

"Crossbred."

Grady considered for a moment, echoing his niece. "Crossbred."

"With a mountain lion."

"Ah." The sailor let the subject drop, mindful that Strider's steady tone hadn't deviated once that morning. She'd taken to gazing off at whatever happened to lie to the right of her, and Grady couldn't see her face. "When's this talk going to start?"

"As soon as you explain to me why there's someone following you."

He sighed, aggrieved. "Niece, I've done a terrible thing. I got snippy with the King this morning."

Strider passed a glance over her shoulder, catching sight of the armed guard that trailed them. He wore the attire of a simple man-at-arms, but the distinct sword and the crest on the scabbard marking him as a King's man. The guard kept his eyes trained on them, not at all abashed to be observed by the woman in the cloak.

"How snippy?"

"I crossed a line."

"You've been here not even a week and you're already in more trouble than you know what to do with it."

"Wait 'til you go home. I'll put money on a bet that says you'll make my lot of problems look like nothing."

When Strider scoffed in response her uncle stole a look at her. She seemed odd, distracted almost. His niece was all business today, with none of her easy talk from the night before. Grady was considering asking if there was something bothering her when she spoke over his thoughts.

"I'm not going home." "Is this what this is about?"

"No."

"Do you plan on letting me in on the secret anytime soon?"

A moment of silence took root and grew between them, and for a moment they heard nothing but the sound of their boots against the dirt and the plod of hooves as they walked along. Eventually Strider took the liberty of squashing the bloom of quiet with heavy words.

"I'm giving you back the letter."

Grady shook his head, "You didn't read it."

"You're right, and I don't intend to."

"I think you're making a mistake," the sailor said. He struggled to keep the annoyance out of his voice, recalling the last time he'd spoken to his niece. They hadn't walked away on the best of terms, and he wasn't eager to repeat the process.

"I'm avoiding one. By not reading it I can't make the mistake of doing… Whatever it is the letter promotes."

"You're making it out to be something it isn't. This is no deal with the devil, it's a plea from your family."

Strider scowled, her gaze still riveted on the line of low wooden buildings that bordered either side of the street. "From which family member?" The woman retorted sharply. She'd spent the better part of the night before laying awake thinking about it, wondering who it could possibly be from. Strider had ruled out her father first, reasoning that he'd never sent her anything before and wouldn't start now. It wasn't likely her younger sister, who'd grown up preferring dresses over breeches and brother Derek over sister Jane. It left only her mother and brother, the first of which she didn't think as probable as the second. Strider couldn't help but think how like Derek it would be to send a letter of truce, or worse yet, one with a persuasive edge. He'd laid that trap once before, playing the role of remorseful brother caught in a dreadful crossfire, and it had worked. Strider had nearly lost her life twice in the span of just a few days because of it, and had come close to dragging down several others with her. She wouldn't fall for his tricks again, and didn't intend to give herself the chance by reading any letter from him.

Beside her, Grady sighed. "It's not from who you think. Can't you hear with those things on the side of your head? It's no deal with the devil, Jane, I told you that. Hang on to it and read it, it's the least you could do."

The letter in question was tucked into Strider's tunic, the parchment chaffing her skin with each breath. She mulled her uncle's words in her mind for a moment, struggling against the impulse to tear the missive to pieces and watch the scraps blow away in the wind.

When Grady was satisfied that his words hadn't met a brick wall he cleared his throat, drawing his niece's gaze to him.

"Don't think on it too much, there's something more important I need you to do for me."

Strider turned her head to regard the sailor, one brow raised in question. "Like what?"

It was Grady's turn to find something to stare off at on one side of the street, a devious smile lighting his face.

"I think it's time this captain commandeered himself a ship."

* * *

It felt odd to be walking up the lane that led to Heather's home a second time, not that Fell minded. Amber's cousin lived in a quiet little part of town, sequestered from the busy streets and plentiful crowds. The Shadow eyed the neat pathway, made of hard packed dirt and laid down wide enough to accommodate a carriage. The homes were all sturdy and set back from the road, reminding Fell of a close packed herd of cattle, pressed together for warmth and support.

As they walked children raced across their path, shrieking gleefully while they chased a little brown terrier that romped around this way and that, a dirty toy lodged in it's mouth. It put into place an oddly peaceful scene, one that Fell wasn't used to. He welcomed it all the same, as foreign as it was.

"Nice neighborhood," Fell offered, and Amber smiled wanly in reply.

"It's alright, but home was better."

"Do you miss your family?"

Amber sighed, but her tone was light, a brimming smile. "Yes. I miss spending the evenings with father, and as surprising as this may sound to you I just don't feel right without Mace hanging over my shoulder."

"Would you go home if you could?" Fell found himself saying the words before he'd really thought them through. Prying into Amber's family life didn't seem to be the greatest conversation they could be having. He reminded himself of the last time they'd spoken, playing with the memory.

_It's definitely not the worst, _he conceded.

"I would." Amber made no move to elaborate, and Fell neglected to ask anymore. They walked the rest of the way in an uneasy silence, both struggling to find something to say.

Amber led the way up a little worn walk to a porch made of old wood that creaked under their feet. She caught the man peering down as he shifted his weight over a loose board, making the verandah whine.

"Not quite as sturdy as it once was," the woman ventured. She too looked at the floor.

"Is anything ever?"

"It depends. New wood, maybe oak, and this would be good as new," Amber said. "Other things aren't as easy to mend."

Fell ventured a look at Amber only to find her face as unreadable as ever. She held his gaze evenly, her eyes the color of coffee.

"I made a mistake the last time we said goodbye. We're not like old wood that can be replaced and nailed back together, but I'd like to try, David."

He was sure the world had stopped, everyone holding their breath as the scene unfolded. Fell didn't know what to say, what to do. He knew what he'd felt for Amber, but what did he feel now?

As it was, he never got the chance to sort it out. Before Fell knew what was happening Amber had leaned forward, rising to her toes to place a kiss on his cheek.

"Think about it," she told him, and he could hear in her words that she meant it.

* * *

**Eight million years after my last update, I finally got around to updating again. Yes, I am still continuing on with this. Unfortunately, time has been tight with school and all. So, I have decided to work on making chapters a bit short so I can update more often. Expect another update towards the end of this month, begging of next month. =)**

**Don't forget to review and let me know how I'm doing. =)**


	9. The Council

No matter how many times she told herself her actions were justified the deputy couldn't shake the clingy wash of uncertainty. Strider couldn't help but feel that she wasn't making the best choice, but the alternative was grimmer.

In a sense.

"I should turn around now," she mumbled aloud, but her boots stayed rooted to the step she stood on. The low wooden awning was weathered but homely, sheltering a little oak door made of sturdy planks. She'd been staring at it for sometime when she spoke, and stared for sometime after.

There was a rustling from inside the home followed by a voice that cut off abruptly when the door swung wide.

"I'll be back soon, it won't take me but a mo—"

Dumbstruck, Strider took an involuntary step backwards from the woman who stood before her. The healer had a basket on her arm, her mouth agape at who stood on her front stoop. Not a second later the woman's jaw snapped closed, and a smile bloomed on her features. A smile a smidge too innocent for sincerity.

"What a lovely surprise," Anis crowed, eyes turning shrewd as she collected herself. She leaned in the doorway with the basket resting in the crook of her arm, waiting. "To what momentous occasion do I owe this visit?"

Strider swallowed, fighting down the urge to turn and scramble back to the tavern where she'd stabled Whiplash. While Strider hated leaving the horse in anyone's care but her own it would have been too obvious to ride him to the healer's house, especially when there was nowhere out of sight for Strider to tuck the big beast.

"I was just… Going," Strider said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Then go on." The healer gestured to the mess of flat gray stones that made up the front walk of her home, inviting her to take her leave.

Strider didn't dare move but sighed instead. She'd had a feeling it would come to this, but couldn't see any other way around it now.

"Anis, I need your help."

* * *

Several letters, a game of cards and two long hours of sparring after his return Fell found himself cleaning up again. He stripped off a heavy layer of sweat and dirt and donned a fresh tunic. Fell frowned down at the worn fabric, eyeing the seams where the thread was fraying. He pulled it off and went rummaging through the rest of his clothes, not quite sure if he had a better one.

In the end Fell went in search of Kerjack, who happily lent Fell a shirt from Marek's wardrobe.

"Here," the older man said, holding up a sleeved garment adorned with buttons. "I'm sure Marek won't mind if you borrow it, as long as you put it back."

Fell took the shirt and shook it out, eyeing it skeptically. He held it against himself and raised his gaze to Kerjack.

"This is really… Nice."

"What is it?" Kerjack asked. "You look worried, again."

"Why would Marek need a nice shirt?"

Kerjack's brow furrowed, then he offered a reassuring smile, and clapped his leader on the shoulder. "Don't think on that too long. Go get dressed."

Fell did, slipping back into his room to change. He fiddled with the buttons around the collar for a minute or two, then gave up and left it partway open at the top. He pulled on his boots and shook out his cloak, swinging it around his shoulders and clasping it at his neck. Looking at the worn material Fell half considered leaving it behind for the same reason he'd borrowed Marek's shirt. Like the rest of his clothes it showed the wear and tear of his work, a resemblance to the many cloaks worn by the Shadows. That made it something to proud of then, didn't it?

He kept the cloak, and was fastening his knives to his belt when he remembered his deputy, whom he hadn't yet seen that day. Fell was still dreading attending the council with her.

"Glade, where'd your mentor go?" He asked as he passed the boy in the hall. The young Shadow shrugged, his arms full of freshly washed pots and pans.

"I dunno. I haven't seen her since this morning. Why?"

"It's about time to head to the council, I thought she'd be ready by now."

Glade offered another shrug in reply, "You could check her room."

Fell let the boy pass and did as Glade suggested, pausing to knock twice before he opened the door. No candles were lit and the shutters were closed, making the room gloomy with the lack of light. The bed was unmade, but the table was clear except for one lone sheet of parchment. It looked dreadfully out of place, and Fell picked it up, squinting at it to read the lines scribbled there.

_Might be late._

_Don't stay and wait for me._

The leader sighed, wondering what could be keeping Strider. He tried to remember the list of errands Kerjack had given her, the one he'd helped write. It hadn't been that long, had it?

Or perhaps Strider didn't want to attend with Fell there as her sitter, and had found something she thought was more important to attend to. Fell wasn't sure whether he should count himself lucky or talk himself up for an argument with his deputy later on. It would be worse, with things between them already having slipped.

He folded the note once over and stuck it in his cloak. Fell went out to saddle Timber, his eyes finding the empty space where his deputy tethered her own mount.

_She'll be there or she won't. There's nothing I can do about it now._

* * *

Cassandra, Crown Princess of Araluen, swept through the broad hall, the bottom of her long dress sweeping the floor behind her. She walked with shoulders back and chin high, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Tonight the Princess was a dignified young lady, something she'd been on countless occasions.

Of course, this was bound to be different. Cassandra wasn't going to be just the polite daughter of the King through some dinner with one honored guest or another. She would be taking a place at the table of her father's council, among knights and lords alike to discuss important matters regarding the pending state of the kingdom. It would be a serious evening, and not at all similar to the frivolous parties and celebratory events Cassandra had attended previously.

It was all at once exciting and terrifying for her. What if they asked what she thought about the coming war? What would she say, and would they take her seriously? She was the daughter of King Duncan, who was well respected for his good actions and intent if not for his occasional temper. Cassandra thought it ironic that she had traveled to other countries, confident with the respect others would bestow upon her, while here she was pondering whether or not her opinion would be valued by those of her own kingdom. Foreign dignitaries suddenly seemed like an easy challenge to conquer.

The Princess was determined, despite her apprehension, to be a worthy participant in the council, even if it meant only listening closely and seconding suggestions made by others. From what she'd heard that morning in the King's office she supposed she might not even have a chance to say anything at all if members of the council were particularly vocal with the Gradiny Crewe, not to mention the Shadow's representative.

"Princess," a guard greeted her. The man wore the gold and red tunic of Araluen, King Duncan's coat of arms embroidered across his chest. He was standing at one of the three wide entrances to the council room, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

Cassandra nodded once to him before passing under the arch of the doorway and into the King's council room. She'd always loved the tall bay windows that made up the entirety of the exterior wall. A good number of those attending had already arrived, finding places at the long table and laying out maps, charts or notes they'd brought to confer to. Her father wasn't yet present, his chair at the far end vacant. His was the only seat that didn't change from council to council, as the King didn't want any seating arrangements to dictate who sat close or far to himself. Some of the nobles may have felt put off had Duncan chosen who was to his right and left each time a meeting was held, as if those sitting closest would have their opinions better heard by their monarch.

It was because of this most of the men already present were clustered around her father's place, each vying to be as near to the King's ear as they could get. There was one man sitting some ways apart with several chairs between him and the rest of the early arrivals. It was him Cassandra chose to join, deciding she didn't want to battle for a place next to her father this night, if only to appear independent from Duncan by sitting some ways from him.

"Hello," she said, noting the man's somewhat worn cloak as she settled into a chair beside him. He'd turned to look at her as she arrived, and looked at little startled to find her choosing a place beside him.

"Evening, Your Highness. I hadn't known you'd be here this night," he said in reply. He had nice eyes, the sort that suggested he was of a friendly nature. His voice was an easy tone, clear and pleasant to the ear. There was a hint somewhere in it that led her to believe he'd grown up far from the castle she knew as home.

Cassandra had thought he was familiar but couldn't quite recall having been formally introduced before.

"I hope it's a pleasant surprise and not an inconvenience." The Princess wondered if the remark sounded a little too barbed. She didn't want to seem as if she were baiting anyone to challenge her place at the council.

"Oh—of course not—an inconvenience I mean. I'm just not very familiar with this. Frankly seeing everyone here has been a bit of a surprise." He spoke evenly and paused momentarily, then added as an after thought, "A pleasant one."

Cassandra smiled as she racked her mind for a name for the stranger. The Princess struggled to put together everything she knew about him. He didn't have any notes or parchments spread before him, nor had he tried for a place close to the King. Then again, he'd implied he hadn't attended many of the council's before. Maybe he simply wasn't sure of how things worked and hadn't thought to bring such things with him or elbow in for a good seat. There was something about his cloak and mannerisms that Cassandra felt was important, if only she could place her finger on it…

"_You're_ Fell," she blurted when the realization hit her.

The Shadow look startled, but he offered a meek smile and a shallow nod. "I'm him," he said a little hesitantly. "You've heard of me then?"

"Well certainly." The Princess was a little embarrassed, but found comfort in the mirrored sheepishness in Fell's eyes.

"I'm a little afraid to ask what you've heard."

"None of it's bad, I assure you." She presented what she hoped was a bright and endearing facial expression. Cassandra had heard plenty about the Shadows and their leader, some good, some bad, and some she deemed too far fetched to hold any truth. "I've never seen you in person before, I'm a little surprised."

"Pleasantly?"

This startled a small chuckle from Cassandra. "Most definitely."

Fell grinned back, a bit shyly, and the Princess worked hard not to make it too obvious she was enjoying his company. She'd always imagined the leader of the Shadows to be a burly fellow, with a beard like a bandit. Fell's clean shaven, level eyed appearance was a pleasant surprise indeed. He wasn't, Cassandra felt herself thinking, frightful looking at all. If anything, he was a little handsome, a bit dashing. Looks aside, he was kind and didn't seem to mind having a level conversation with her.

In Cassandra's mind she struck an imaginary point for herself. That was one down with only a few—dozen—more to go.

* * *

Strider had been taking it easy on her horse in the recent months for the sake of a leg he'd lamed not long ago, but she held him to a quick canter as the sun slipped towards the horizon. They were late getting back to Fell's House, and the Shadow had a sneaking suspicion Whiplash could sense this. He was more than a little enthusiastic about the ride, tugging hungrily at the bit for just a little more rein.

Before long, Strider gave it to him as they left the crowded streets and passed onto the dirt lane that would take them down to the House. She let Whiplash have his head, and he set off into a brisk lope.

The Shadow loved the feeling that came over horse and rider when Whiplash surged forward. Strider's feet were pressed down into the stirrups, knees firm against her horse's sides, her hands loose on the reins. There was a second—just one—when they were weightless in the air, the world stone still around them.

And then the hooves started thudding into the earth again and the moment of pure, unrestrained freedom was gone like water through Strider's hands.

Kerjack was standing out on the porch when the deputy rode up, hauling back on the reins to slow her horse.

"Did he leave?" Were the first words out of her mouth.

"He'll be there by now."

"Well, damn me. D'you think you could take care of this?" Strider slipped down from the saddle and untied a heavy pouch fastened shut, passing it to Kerjack while she paused to loop and tie the reins around a post of the verandah.

Kerjack was eyeing the dust clinging to the woman's cloak and britches, turning them dull. He tucked the satchel under one arm and opened the door for the deputy.

"You've got a minute to change," he informed her. "Use it wisely."

Strider didn't object, doubling up the front steps and dodging around the table to get to the hall and her room. Kerjack's voice had been cheery enough, but the look in his eyes gave away his displeasure at her being late.

It would be nothing, Strider assured herself as she closed the door behind her and began pulling off her dusty clothes, compared to the wrath she'd suffer from Fell. They weren't even over their most previous disagreement, and Strider was already putting herself on even rockier ground with her friend.

Strider shoved the thoughts from her head. She didn't want that particular weight pressing down on her right now. Not when the bitterness between them was still quite ripe. Not when she couldn't think of many words in the way of an apology.

The deputy pulled a clean shirt followed by a tunic over her head, neglecting to tighten her belt over either garment. She slung it over her shoulder instead, her knives resting on table. Strider tied her hair back quickly, hoping the tail of her brackish colored hair didn't list to one side too severely.

In her haste, Strider nearly forgot to reclaim her two long daggers from the table on her way out, and was forced to double back for them. It would have saved her time to leave them where she'd left the, but for some reason she couldn't explain, Strider wanted the knives with her.

* * *

The Ranger Commandant wasn't at all surprised to see the King's council table nearing full when he arrived in the grand room hosting the meeting. He took a quick stock of the long table and the people seated, nodding to a few who knew him as he noted the absences.

There were two, in particular, that interested Crowley more than the rest. He could see no sign of Gradiny Crewe or the Shadow's Deputy. The Ranger did spot, much to his surprise, the leader of the Shadows, and seated next to him Princess Cassandra. They were sitting with their backs towards him, engaged it what seemed to be pleasant conversation.

_Her father will be glad of it,_ Crowley thought to himself, smiling inwardly. It was Cassandra's first time attending, and Duncan had been noticeably wary of the night. The King wanted his daughter to succeed and do well, and it bothered him that he couldn't speak for her or do much else to ensure she did.

Of course, it wasn't the only thing on the King's mind. There was much to be done and more to discuss, and Crowley sensed that a great many things would change before the council was adjourned.

The Ranger speculated that the standing of the Shadows may be one of them, and wondered whether or not it was wise of the Crown Princess to be sitting with the leader of the rogue band. Crowley had to take a moment to remind himself she could do much worse in the room full of dignitaries. The Shadows weren't the only ones attending who didn't happen to be on their monarch's good side, after all.

After pausing to speak to one or two members of the council who'd flagged him down, Crowley took his seat several chairs down from the King. Even though there were no specific seating arrangements the majority of the nobles who attended always seemed to leave one chair open for the Ranger near the King, no matter how late he arrived.

It was curious, but Crowley had never questioned it and took it as a show of respect if nothing else. He could have given up the place and sat somewhere else to decline the gesture, but truth be told he liked the seat. It provided him a decent vantage from which to view the rest of the council at either end of the table, not to mention the many windows across from him. He enjoyed the look of the clear glass, turned to pools of oil by the flickering of the flames in sconces. The Ranger told himself that it also could have been misconstrued as rude if he refused to sit in the chair left vacant for him.

_A valid excuse, _he told himself as he settled in. The Commandant was just in time, as across the wide room the King's chamberlain entered from the far archway, banging his scepter against the polished floor three times precisely.

"His Royal Majesty," Martin announced loudly before sweeping into an elaborate bow. Every soul in the room rose to their feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley spotted the deputy of the Shadows coming to stand beside her leader on his other side. At the same time, Halt joined his Commandant just a seat away.

Crowley shot him a questioningly look, and Halt shrugged in reply.

_Must have been finishing his beloved cup of coffee, _the Commandant thought. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his friend. King Duncan, ruling monarch of the kingdom of Araluen, made his way into the room, a scribe and guard following after him. The King was neatly attired for the council, his crown of office shining atop his head. He took his seat and gestured for everyone else to do the same.

After much shuffling of feet and chairs the council sat, all eyes on His Majesty. The guard who had followed the King in moved to stand at attention near the archway behind him, not far from the chamberlain. The scribe, after depositing a number of scrolls and maps at Duncan's elbow, bowed politely and fled the room.

"Welcome. There are a number of things for us to discuss tonight," he began, his eyes taking in the faces of his council before him. He frowned, and Crowley guessed the King was noting the absence of Gradiny Crewe. He glanced from the empty chair to the guard who stood behind him, and the man bowed and retreated from the room in response.

Crowley took it to mean the man was off to speak to the Captain of the Guard concerning the tail they'd put on Gradiny Crewe. The King would like to know his whereabouts, and the Ranger Commandant couldn't help but wonder himself.

"We'll begin promptly," Duncan went on without ceremony or explanation. "A messenger arrived from the south recently to deliver a letter from Lord Brandon Crewe requesting immediate assistance."

The King appeared to confer his thoughts with the many papers left by the scribe. "The missive doesn't document much, but claims treasonous acts of Baron Bryce, including enlisting and assisting the Cult."

There was a moment of silence for the council members to drink in the news most had already heard through one rumor or another. The King's words simply made the whispers credible.

"No other messengers have come through from Rockfall as far as our scouts can tell, and not a word from Ranger Hane. That is, until earlier today. A messenger arrived this morning with a report that all is well in Rockfall, the message is stamped with Baron Bryce's seal."

This was met with an odd gasp and a flurry of raised brows. It was news that hadn't yet had the time to get around. It had, of course, already reached Crowley's ears.

"What action is to be taken, Your Highness?" One man ventured to ask.

"It's what we are here to decide. The missive mentions that Ranger Hane has apparently fallen ill, and has been residing at the Baron's residence. He's under the care of Bryce's healer."

"We must send soldiers then, to Lord Brandon. Clearly there is a misunderstanding that needs to be investigated. The accusations against the Baron seem… Far fetched."

"I disagree, Murray."

Heads turned, not to the first man—a knight and trusted strategist—but to the second speaker. Strider spoke evenly, no hint of hostility or other emotion in her voice.

"Lord Crewe, as he goes by, is not a dishonest man."

"And how would you know of his credibility?" The knight shot back.

There was no hesitation as Strider said the truth. "Lord Crewe is my father." More whispered news the court had been pondering, the deputy's declaration was met with little shock. Looks of anticipation showed on the faces in the room.

"This would mean Derek of the Cult is Lord Crewe's son?"

"Yes," Strider's reply was curt but not spoken rudely. Her gaze was level and even. She met the eyes of every council member that looked her way, a woman with nothing to hide. Crowley had witnessed such exchanges between two members of the council. It was a polite stand off, a whole other form of trial by combat. Who was winning this particular encounter was yet to be seen.

"Is there anything to deny a connection between Lord Crewe and the Cult? If his son is involved…" The Battlemaster of Caraway Fief and supreme commander of the King's army spoke up, his words trailing off. Sir David watched the implications of his words flicker across the faces of the council.

"There isn't." Strider's tone was firm.

"How can you be sure?"

"My father isn't that kind of man," she said easily, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "He's honest, lawful, and loyal to a fault. Derek doesn't take after him."

"And you do?"

Something unnamable flashed in Strider's gaze, and a corner of her lips twitched. "Well. I didn't say that." Her composure returned, she went on. "Lord Crewe wouldn't lie or… Misunderstand something of this importance. He sent his brother—my uncle—to deliver the message. My uncle hasn't spent more than a week at a time with both feet on dry land since around the time I was born. If the letter says there is treason in Baron Bryce's household, there is treason in Baron Bryce's household."

"This is as credible as hearsay," Sir Murray protested. "Simply because you say Lord Crewe is honest doesn't make his word credible. He has a son in the Cult, a daughter…"

"A daughter what?" Strider prompted. Her eyes compelled Murray to finish his sentence.

The knight turned red and fumbled momentarily for a proper word. "A daughter that—who is,—"

"Estranged," Crowley provided.

"Yes—estranged, and from what I understand a brother—your uncle—who is in the business of pirating. None of which speak to Crewe's credibility."

"Lord."

For the second time that night heads turned, not back to Strider but to the man seated next to her. Fell was beginning to tire of questions being hurled at his deputy. He'd come into the council expecting to be the one under fire, but none of the men at the table had looked his way since the discussion had begun. It bothered him, to witness his deputy fighting a battle he had thought to be fighting on his lonesome.

"It's _Lord_ Crewe," he elaborated as he felt the many eyes settling on him. He did as his deputy had done, and met each gaze in turn.

Not an eye in the room left Fell. On a few faces he saw confusion in the form of wrinkling brows or quirked lips. Recognition showed in the eyes of every unsure noble or knight when their reigning monarch spoke.

"It's been a while since we've seen you here, Fell." King Duncan was regarding the leader of the Shadows with a look of expectancy. "Can you speak to the credibility of Lord Crewe?"

"I've never met the man personally, but I wouldn't doubt he's telling the truth."

There was an interesting moment of silence, not at all awkward as Fell had suspected it might be. It was one of thought, of minds processing his words and searching for the proper elaboration.

Crowley raised the question just as the room began to catch up with the meaning of Fell's words.

"You've been to the south then?"

"It's where we came from. The Cult began in the south, and have been driving us north ever since."

Fell hoped no one would ask him if he himself were from the mountains. What he'd been doing in Rockfall before he'd become a part of the Shadows wasn't exactly something he was ready to disclose to the King and his council.

"You're saying the Cult all began in the south?" Sir David looked skeptical. The Battlemaster was quickly tallying up the numbers of men belonging to the Cult his scouts had reported seeing in Araluen. He couldn't believe there was anywhere near that many living in the mountains. The Cult couldn't have come from the south if all the men, women and children were soldiers themselves.

Fell offered a nod, then spoke up, "But they weren't what they are now. The Cult was more like a collection of bandits, they looted and stole and pillaged. The only time I ever remember seeing them in numbers anything like an army is just before we retreated and left the mountains. They were camped in Baron Bryce's courtyard."

Yet another silence followed. Men rubbed their chins thoughtfully, but Fell could see a few with looks of disbelief on their faces this time as well.

"And what should we take this to mean?" The King kept his eyes trained on the man before him.

"It could mean many things." Once again, heads turned, not too far this time, to the Crown Princess Cassandra. "The soldiers could have been part of a force holding the Baron prisoner. Perhaps someone seized his castle, and is working with the Cult from there."

Crowley, quite pleased to hear the Princess speak up, was the first to raise a question to her theory. He could tell the men around the table were more reluctant to pick apart an idea suggested by the King's daughter. They would need a nudge, and the Commandant would provide it.

"And the letter with his seal, claiming things are fine and dandy?"

"It may have been forged if Baron Bryce's castle was overrun," she shot back politely. "In turn, the messenger who brought the news that Baron Bryce is behind the Cult could be simply misled. They may believe he is behind it, since the Cult is working from his home and possibly even under his name."

_Good girl, _he thought to himself, hiding a smile. That particular message had also mentioned Ranger Hane was residing at the castle, and possibly another prisoner if what Cassandra said was true. It would explain why Crowley hadn't heard from him about the events in the south.

The Ranger glanced up as he caught sight of a guard heading toward the King. The one usually posted at the archway had yet to return, and Crowley suspected he may have found the missing Gradiny Crewe, and was sending ahead a messenger to let the King know.

"Or Baron Bryce could be a lying traitor leading a coup to take the throne for himself." All eyes shot back to Strider, and Fell had to wonder if he was the only one getting a sore neck from looking from speaker to speaker and back again.

Strider's remark was met by many a disbelieving look. They were more inclined to believe the Princess's tale than ponder the thought they might be facing treachery from one of their own. The deputy in turn stared around the room with a stony gaze.

"Just thought we'd explore all the possibilities," she chipped in.

A somewhat awkward silence began to ensue, and Crowley went back to watching the guard as he reached the King. The man seemed hesitant in his steps, as if unsure of himself.

_Odd,_ the Ranger thought. Crowley gave the guard a second look over, thinking it was likely a newer recruit with nerves. But his eyes settled on the man's sword, clapping against his thigh with each step. The Ranger remembered the swords the King's Guard carried as being a little thinner, a little longer.

"Your Majesty!" Crowley shouted as he sprang to his feet, his saxe knife already drawn.

The guard gave up all premise and rushed the last few steps to the King, pulling a dagger that glinted with the firelight burning away in the sconces. Crowley heard the muffled thud of his own steps against the granite floor, the sound of chair legs scraping back in haste, and a collective gasp as the assassin's knife struck home.

* * *

**I sincerely apologize for the terribly long amount of time since the last update. While I intended to have this up almost a month or two ago, I hit some road blocks with the plot, and took the time to work out the kinks. This is still an active story. I will be updating it more often now, and I do fully intend to finish it.**

**Reviews would be lovely, especially things along the line of characterization feedback. Who do you like? Who don't you like? etc.**

**Happy Reading. =)**


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